


Tumblr Ficlets Collection (Steve/Bucky Edition)

by Brenda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Making Up, Meet-Cute, OTP: I'm Following Him, OTP: I'm WIth You To The End Of The Line, Old Married Couple, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Resistance AU, Science Nerd Bucky Barnes, Semi-Public Sex, Steve Rogers Feels, gangster au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-01-01 03:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 21,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12147417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: What it says on the tin: a masterpost for all of my Tumblr ficlets, Bucky/Steve edition!





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve/Bucky – happy cuddles (for buckyforcap)

"Bucky?" Steve calls, as he lets himself in the front door and starts unwinding his scarf from around his neck. The wool, knee-length pea coat and thick gloves come off next. He tends to run hot since the serum, but not even Erskine's formula is a match for the frigidness of New York winters.

"Buck?" he repeats, when he doesn't get an answer. He scans the living room, but it's empty. Normally when he's late coming home, Bucky's sprawled on the sofa, either catching up on forty-odd years of Doctor Who episodes (they're on the Fourth Doctor now, and Bucky's frankly adorable crush on Tom Baker has been a source of great amusement) or he's playing Super Mario Galaxy 2. 

But Bucky's nowhere to be found. Not in the kitchen or their bedroom or Steve's studio, and Steve's starting to get a tiny bit concerned (not precisely worried, not yet) when he sees the sliding glass door that leads out to the rooftop balcony is cracked open. Concern morphs into confusion as Steve pokes his head out, and sees a huddled figure, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and hoodie, sitting at the edge of the building, legs dangling over the ledge.

"Buck?" he calls softly, not wanting to startle whoever it is (although he's 99% certain it's Bucky). 

The figure twists slightly, and, sure enough, Bucky's familiar face, perfectly framed by the hoodie, comes into view. "Hey," he says, and pats the space next to him. "Pull up some concrete."

Steve steps out and immediately shivers as a gust of wind hits him. He's still wearing his sweater and jeans, but this high up, the cold cuts through him like a sharp blade. "Why the hell are you outside?" he asks, teeth chattering. He drops beside Bucky and scoots in as close as he can. Already, his fingers and ears are numb.

"I think better out here," Bucky offers. He lifts a corner of the blanket in invitation, and Steve gratefully takes it. Burrows against Bucky and all of his warmth, and wraps his own arm around Bucky's waist. It's still fucking cold, but at least the thick wool of the blanket cuts down on the wind.

"Do I even want to know what you're thinking about?" he asks, once he's stopped shivering.

"Nothing really," Bucky says, and puts his head on Steve's shoulder. "It's just easier to quiet the noise in my head when I can see the stars is all."

"Oh." Steve belatedly looks around, and the view from up here is pretty nice. Their building is right on the river's edge, and they have a clear view of the Brooklyn Bridge and the glittering lights and buildings of Manhattan just across the harbor. Their city, he thinks fondly. He's been all over the world, but no place has even spoken to him on a visceral level like New York.

When he tilts his head back and looks up, his breath catches at all of the lights twinkling in the clear night sky. There's no moon tonight – just stars as far as the eye can see. "It's beautiful," he says in a hushed voice. The setting seems to call for it.

"Yeah, it is," Bucky agrees, and Steve doesn't need to look down to know Bucky's smiling. His soft, sweet smile that only Steve gets to see. "Kinda puts everything into perspective, doesn't it."

"Yeah, it kinda does." Steve rests his cheek against the soft cotton of Bucky's hoodie, and tries to pull him that much closer. If Steve runs hot, Bucky's a damned furnace. "I can see why you like it out here."

"Mmm." Bucky tilts his head up just enough to press a kiss to Steve's jaw. "View's better now that you're here, though."

Steve blushes, delighted, and meets Bucky's lips with his own, the kiss light and close-mouthed and just about perfect. "I like this romantic side of you," he murmurs, smiling so big he's surprised his face isn't cracking in two.

Bucky's eyes are sparkling as bright as the stars overhead when he smiles back. "Yeah, well, I can't let you always be the romantic sap in this relationship."

"You're right, it wouldn't be fair," Steve solemnly replies.

Bucky shakes his head, and drops it back to Steve's shoulder. "Dick," he says, fondly.

"I love you, too," Steve tells him, and turns his face up to the sky again. He can't feel the cold at all anymore.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: An explanation for why Steve's shirts seem to fit much better in Cap3. Any explanation.

Being on the run isn't a new thing for Bucky. He's been out on his own, living in the shadows, for almost two years now. He's mastered the art of staying off the grid and remaining invisible, even in plain sight, and with every three letter agency out there running facial recognition software on every scrap of video footage. All of which means Steve tends to take Bucky's suggestions and word at face value on undercover strategy and how to move, how to act, how to blend in and not draw attention.

But even Steve's got to draw the line somewhere.

"What are those?" he asks, eyeing the packs of t-shirts Bucky's tossed into their cart. It's already loaded with socks, jeans, jackets, and basic toiletries, as well as a new backpack for Bucky to replace the one that had gotten destroyed earlier. Steve's not the biggest fan of these large, impersonal box stores, but today, he's thankful they can get pretty much everything they need to restock supplies all in one place.

Bucky gives him a flat, unimpressed look. "Thought the serum fixed your vision. They're shirts."

 _You've missed this_ , Steve reminds himself. _Remember, you've missed everything about him, including all the times you wanted to punch his stupid face._

"I know what they are," he says, digging deep for something resembling patience. "But we have shirts already."

Bucky snorts. "Yeah, for _me_. Those shirts are for you."

Steve rummages through the cart and holds up the t-shirt pack he'd grabbed for himself twenty minutes ago. "For a master sniper, you're not real observant there, Buck."

Bucky just sighs and plucks the pack out of his hand. "You do realize you're not five-foot nothing and a buck-five soaking wet anymore, right? These -" he shakes the pack for emphasis "- wouldn't fit your pal Natasha's chest, let alone yours."

"They fit just fine," Steve protests, motioning at himself and the shirt he's wearing. Which covers him perfectly well, fuck you very much.

Bucky sighs again, long and put-upon, and shakes his head. "Look, I dunno what you've been up to the last couple of years, and when all this is over, hopefully we'll have time to grab a beer and I can tell you all about my second career as a Hydra assassin and you can tell me about your second career as a porn star, but right now, we need to be able to move around unnoticed -"

"- _Porn star_?!?"

"Jesus, Steve, have you looked at your pecs in that thing?" Bucky exclaims, waving a hand in front of him. "Your tits are bigger than Betsy Schmauker's in that tiny-ass scrap you're calling a shirt. If you were a girl, you'd be arrested for indecent exposure. I can barely think straight right now just looking at you, pun intended."

Steve feels his cheeks heat up at the look Bucky's now giving him. Like he's thinking about dragging Steve into the closest dressing room and bending him over and fucking him blind. The only thing keeping Steve from begging him to do it is the faint, insistent voice reminding him that they're wanted men, and this is a _really_ bad time.

"Oh," he says, faintly.

"Yeah, _oh_." Bucky tosses the pack onto a nearby shelf, then cups Steve's nape, pulling him in for a quick, hard, dirty-hot kiss that ends with a sharp drag of his teeth across Steve's lower lip. "So you're gonna wear some shirts that actually fit that ridiculous physique of yours so we can blend in with the crowd, alright? And when this is over, you can go back to showing off the goods however you want. I'll buy you the smallest, snuggest shirts I can find, and stand by your side while you flaunt what you got to everyone with eyes. Just as long as you come home with me after," he murmurs, with another kiss. This one softer, slower, but no less potent. A promise for the future.

Steve chases Bucky's mouth, deepens the kiss for a handful of heartbeats. Not nearly enough for what he wants, but it'll have to hold him until… Until. "Yeah," he agrees, so dazed and turned on he's pretty sure he'd say yes to anything Bucky wants right now. "Yeah, okay."

Bucky smiles, and then turns back to the cart. "Glad we're settled. Now c'mon, we're on a schedule."

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Science-Nerd Bucky waking Steve up

"Steve, wake up, you need to look at this!"

Steve groans and buries his head under the pillow. "I'm asleep," he says, voice muffled. "Like you _should_ be."

Bucky knocks his knee against Steve's. "Seriously, just look at this."

"You're lucky I love you," Steve grumbles, but uncovers his head. "What's so important at –" He glances at the bedside clock and groans "– really, Buck, _three_ in the fucking morning?"

Bucky's bent over his laptop, hair coming loose from his bun and falling across his face. His skin looks luminescent from the silvery light of the screen. "You really gotta see this," he says, and shoves the laptop Steve's way.

Steve peers at the image, and shrugs. "Looks like the moon," he says, then lets out the world's biggest yawn.

"Jesus, I'm in love with a heathen," Bucky laments, and points excitedly at the screen. "That's a dwarf planet."

Steve has a feeling he's supposed to be far more impressed by that knowledge than he actually is. "Okay?"

"They discovered it about thirteen years ago and named it Eris, although it's sometimes called the tenth planet. It's larger than Pluto. Do you know what that means?" Bucky's all but vibrating out of his skin with excitement. Normally, Steve would be all about Bucky's happiness, but right now, he mostly just wants to go back to sleep.

"Yeah, it means I fell in love with a science nerd who needs to put his laptop down and go the fuck to sleep already because we've got a big day tomorrow."

"Heathen," Bucky repeats, in the most disappointed tone known to man. Steve thinks about telling him that tone hasn't worked since they were both eight, but watching Bucky pout is kinda adorable, so he doesn't. It's all about the little things.

"I'd tell you to call Tony and talk geek, but he'd probably answer and then I'd never hear the end of it from Pepper," Steve says. If there's anyone on the planet who sends the fear of God into him (and probably every other person on the planet, come to think on it), it's Pepper Potts.

Bucky sighs, long and suffering and oh-so-dramatic. "At least Tony properly appreciates the amazingness of the cosmos."

Steve thumps his head on the pillow and gives Bucky a beseeching look. "If I promise to be a properly appreciative audience in the morning, can you please just let us both sleep?"

"Promise?" Bucky asks, hopefully.

"Promise," Steve says, and pulls Bucky in for a kiss to seal the deal. "Now power down the laptop already."

"Fine," Bucky says, "but I get to be the big spoon tonight."

"Whatever you want, Buck."

***


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Young Steve and Bucky, sandlot baseball (ie, sometime pre-war, so it doesn't have to be kidfic)!

"Yo, Rogers!!! Barnes!!! Hey, guys, wait up!!!!"

Bucky and Steve both turn as one and see Joey O'Malley running down the sidewalk after them, all elbows and gangly legs and no coordination at all. Bucky's not one to make fun of anyone's shortcomings, but watching Joey run is one of the funniest sights he's ever seen in person. Might even be funnier than seeing Mrs. Flannery trying to hide behind her husband when she sees a spider, like she's not at least six inches taller than him and almost twice as wide. Mr. Flannery takes it all in stride, though, and comforts her after, and she curls into him like he's some sort of knight on a steed. It's kinda sweet, if Bucky's honest with himself. Makes him think maybe there really is someone out there for everyone. He certainly hopes so.

Joey pulls to a halt in front of them, sucking in air like he's dying, and lifts a hand in greeting before resting them on his knees. He's got sweat dripping down his forehead and on his nose, and he's about as red as a beet. "You okay?" Steve asks in sympathy, and holds out a crumpled handkerchief.

Joey takes it with a muttered thanks, and mops at the worst of the sweat on his brow. "You...we...was told to get both...of you," he manages to huff out.

"You were, huh?" Bucky replies, unimpressed. Joey's an alright sort, but the rest of their group of friends ain't exactly in Bucky's good graces at the moment, and he knows Joey knows this. "Why's that?"

"Gotta game against Nelson's crew," Joey says, and he's finally stopped wheezing enough that he sounds like he's not gonna pass out on the sidewalk in front of McIlroy's Market. "Fitz says to come get you. Says to tell you he'll owe you. Both of you."

"Owe us?" Steve asks, confused. "Why's he owe us? We're on the team already."

Bucky crosses his arms across his chest, and puffs it out a little. It ain't Joey's fault, but Bucky's still got a point to make. "Why didn't Fitz chase us down himself, then?"

"Dunno." Joey shrugs. "But he says to chase you down, tell you what's what, so here I am. You guys coming?"

"I dunno, Joey, I'm not really inclined to do Fitz any favors right now..." Bucky drawls. Not after what Joey said. Bucky's still spittin' mad about it.

"Oh yeah, geez, I can't believe I almost forgot this." Joey smacks his hand against his forehead. "He says to tell you he's sorry about the things he said. Said to tell you he's trying to be a better man and turn over a new leaf and needs you to keep him in line." 

Joey's words knock the wind right outta Bucky's sails. "He _really_ said all that?"

"Yeah, made me memorize it and everything," Joey confirms, with a decisive nod.

Steve's frown deepens. "Buck, what's going on? Why's Fitz need to butter you up? What'd he do?"

"He knows what he did," Bucky tells Steve, and wills Steve to drop it. It's a futile wish – Steve's worse than a terrier with a bone most days – but one day, he figures it'll work.

" _Buck_ ," Steve says, full of reproach.

Luckily, Joey comes to the rescue before Bucky's forced to lie. "Fitz was mouthing off the other day and Bucky took exception to it. You'da been proud of him, Steve, he sounded just like you."

Steve straightens and glances up at Bucky. Bucky's last growth spurt had shot him about half a head taller than Steve, and neither of them are used to it yet. Steve's still waiting for his body to catch up to his mind and his spirit, and Bucky hopes it happens soon. "What'd he say?" Steve asks, in a voice much too deep for his thin frame.

"Nothing I wanna repeat," Bucky replies, which is the truth, as far as it goes. Then he turns to Joey. "Run back and tell Fitz we'll be there in a minute. And tell him I want the good glove this time. And that Steve's playing second or no deal."

"Yeah, okay, you got it," Joey says, and takes off in the other direction, flailing along the sidewalk like a seasick dog.

" _Second_?" Steve asks, with wide eyes. "You want me playing middle infield with you? No joke?"

"Hell yeah, I do," Bucky replies, after glancing around real quick to make sure none of their moms' friends are listening in to bust him for cussing. "Already told Fitz more than once I need my wingman with me when I'm playing shortstop. Figure now's the time to collect, since he owes me."

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be. You gotta soft touch when you're fielding, unlike the rest of the yahoos on the team," Bucky says, and shrugs. It's the God's honest truth, even if it's not _entirely_ all the reason Bucky wants Steve by his side on the diamond.

Steve smiles, small and bashful, his cheeks a nice shade of pink. "Thank you, Buck."

"You're doing me the favor, not the other way around, pal," Bucky replies, and ducks his head before Steve can see that his own cheeks are just as pink. He throws an arm across Steve's skinny shoulders and pulls him in. "Now, c'mon, or we won't have time to beat Nelson and his crew before supper."

"Yeah, okay," Steve happily agrees, and does his best to match Bucky's stride as they turn down the sidewalk.

***


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clint & Bucky discuss Steve's ass for five hours instead of doing therapy

"So, Steve's ass."

Bucky lolls his head on the sofa cushion and looks at Clint in interest. "My favorite subject. Keep talking."

Clint flops down next to him and passes him a fresh bottle of beer. "Was it always that perfect or was that the serum?"

"He always had a nice ass." Bucky smiles in memory and lets out a fond sigh. "It was smaller, sure, but so round and firm. Fit in my hands just fine. And sweet, you can't even imagine how sweet it was, how much he used to love it when I got my tongue nice and deep in there and went to town."

Clint gives him a puzzled look. "Wait, you're saying Steve doesn't like rimming now?"

"There's a name for it?" Bucky asks, intrigued.

"Yeah, there's a name for it." Clint laughs, wolfishly-wicked and oddly charming. "There's a name for everything."

"Rimming. I like it." Bucky nods decisively. "Yeah, he likes it now just fine, but it's different these days. I can't get in as deep as I used to, on account of how much more of him there is, y'see."

"Gotcha," Clint says, and takes a pull from his beer. "But that's gotta be good in other ways, right?"

"Sure, grabbing onto it during sex is way better now." So much better, in fact. Bucky loves Steve in every iteration, and there are days when he misses the skinny spitfire he'd first fallen in love with, but he's not gonna lie and say he's not real fond of the changes the serum had wrought. "I can really dig my fingers into his ass when he's pounding into me and it won't hurt him a bit. And he's still as tight as ever when I'm fucking him good and hard the way he likes, so that part's nice."

"Nothing like it," Clint agrees amiably.

"Why the interest, by the way?" Not that Bucky minds if everyone looks – he's well used to it by now. To sharing Steve with the world when no one had ever given a damn about him in the old days. Bucky knows he was there first, and that Steve's going home with him at the end of the night, and that's all that matters.

"Are you kidding, everyone is interested in an ass like that," Clint says, with a quiet chuckle. "I'm just the only one who's rude enough to ask you about it."

"Which is why you're my favorite," Bucky says, and knocks his bottle to Clint's in a toast. "What else would you like to know?"

Clint settles in for the long haul, head lolling against the cushions. "Start at the top." 

Bucky grins. "With pleasure."

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Maybe a nice, sexy Stucky enemies to lovers AU, but with Steve in the bad boy role. (Author's note: I kinda took a few liberties with this one, as I totally forgot the enemies part, oops! :D)

The lonely, clear note of a trumpet was the only sound breaking the almost tangible quiet inside the foyer of The HC Supper Club. James peeked around the velvet curtain to have a look at the audience. The crème de la crème of Brooklyn society was all dressed for a night on the town and sitting rapt in their seats, caught in the spell of the music. Drums and trombones joined the trumpet, the crisp, haunting sound of the violin and the cello not far behind. The song was liquid, gorgeous, struck at James' heart with each plaintive, melancholy beat, and the band up on the stage played it to brilliant perfection. Not that James expected anything less. Steve had always had an impeccable ear for talent, and for cultivating it.

It seemed he'd outdone himself during the years James had been gone.

Maybe coming here was a bad idea. Steve had probably long since moved on – probably had a string of lovers or a harem by now, every one of them eager and willing to take James' place in Steve's heart and in his bed. And it wasn't like James could blame anyone for that eagerness, either. Steve Rogers was one of the most feared and respected made men in all of New York, and ran all of Brooklyn – from Cobble Hill to Brighton Beach – with the proverbial soft words and a big stick, and a firm but fair attitude towards everyone under his protection. It was that attitude and that sense of tough fairness that had elevated him to near mythical status, and had crowds lining up to work with him and align themselves with him.

Once, James had served as Steve's right-hand man, had overseen Steve's security detail and been Steve's most trusted advisor. James had grown up with Steve, and encouraged Steve's ambition and drive. Had backed his every play and every move as Steve had risen through the ranks of Phillips' organization, then had taken over when the old man had passed. James had been at Steve's side the whole time, acted as his eyes and ears and muscle, providing council and neutralizing threats before they'd gotten much louder than a whisper. They'd also been lovers, true partners in every sense of the word, a team unmatched and unrivaled.

But that life had been ruthlessly stripped away from James five long, hellish years ago. Five years of tortuous exile, with his soul bleeding out every single minute he didn't have Steve in arm's reach. Five years of dreaming about Steve's eyes and his smile and his touch and going to bed with the memory of Steve's taste on his lips every night. Five years of nothing except thoughts of revenge to sustain him, and working like a dog to make his way back to Steve's side.

But now that he was here, back where it all truly began, it didn't quite seem real. He had no idea what to expect when he stepped past the curtain and headed down the stairs, or what might be waiting for him. But he steeled himself for the worst. If Steve rejected him – or, worse, if he never even made it far enough into the inner sanctum to even lay eyes on Steve – that was the price he'd pay. He'd take his licks on the chin like a man, and try again tomorrow.

He waited another few minutes until the song ended, then straightened his already impeccably straight bowtie, double-checked to make sure his cufflinks were perfect, and sauntered down the stairs to the hostess stand. He didn't recognize the girl, but that didn't mean much. Five years was a long time, after all.

He gave her his best charming, dimpled smile. "I gotta say, my night's looking better already just getting a glimpse of you."

She returned the smile, and gave the cut of his tux a surreptitiously approving glance. "Can't say I can complain about the view I'm getting, either. You looking for a table, hon?"

"In a manner of speaking." He leaned in, dropped his voice. "I was actually hoping Mr. Rogers was in tonight. I wanted a word with him."

Instantly, her flirtatious look turned all business. "You got an appointment?"

He shook his head. "Not precisely, but I'm betting he'll be interested in seeing me." At least, he hoped so.

"And you are?"

"You can..." He licked dry lips. Ruthlessly tamped down the fluttering in his gut. "Tell him Bucky's here to see him."

" _Bucky_?" she repeated, dubious.

"Trust me, he'll know the name."

"We'll see," she said. "Wait here."

James nodded and watched her walk off in the direction of the long corridor that ran next to the bar. Well, he'd done it, he'd made the first move. It was up to Steve now.

He tried not to feel disappointed when she returned with a man James didn't know in tow. The other guy didn't look brawny enough to be typical hired muscle, but James knew better than anyone how deceiving looks could be. One of the deadliest enforcers Steve had ever employed had been a tiny slip of a redhead who'd knocked guys out cold with one punch and without so much as breaking a nail.

The guy motioned James' way. "Mr. Rogers wants to see you in his office."

Oh. Well, that was...better. James straightened, tugging at the hem of his jacket. "Certainly." He smiled again to the hostess and followed the guy down the hall to a closed door.

"Through there. Mr. Rogers said you could walk right in."

"Uh, thanks."

He put his hand on the knob, and took a moment to steel himself. No matter what happened next, at least he and Steve would both have closure. James didn't want to think or hope beyond that.

But when he opened the door and saw Steve standing there, tall and broad-shouldered and even more handsome than he'd been five years ago, it felt like James' heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Steve's hair was still fine and blond, but he wore it a little shorter now, without the sweeping bangs James used to love so much. The new style made those blue eyes of his seem even bigger, emphasized the chiseled cut of his cheekbones. He was impeccably clad in a navy suit that looked to be imported straight from Savile Row, but under it, James still saw the scrapper from their old neighborhood — saw the brainy, calculating kid who'd vowed to make something out of himself and put Brooklyn back on the map, no matter what. The man James had followed with fierce, unquestioned loyalty for the first twenty-five years of their lives. The same man he'd abandoned, just when Steve had needed him most.

Still, James couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop going over all the small changes the years had wrought.

"You know, I didn't believe my ears when Ella gave me your name," Steve said, the low, rich tenor vibrating through James' body like a well-loved refrain. "Told myself I was hearing things."

James lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. All of his carefully rehearsed lines deserted him in an instant. "Hi Steve."

"Five fucking years, and that's all you have to say for yourself? 'Hi Steve' – that's all I get?"

"I can explain –"

"I thought you were _dead_ ," Steve interrupted, voice shaking with fury. "Do you have any idea how long I looked for you? How many leads my men followed, how many fucking dead ends? It was like trying to search for a goddamn ghost. You just disappeared. No trace of you anywhere."

"You looked for me?" James asked, reeling back. He had to be hearing things. No way was Steve saying what he thought he was.

"You thought I wouldn't?" Steve let out an ugly sounding laugh. "You really thought…Jesus, Buck. Are you fucking kidding me right now? After everything we were to each other, you thought I'd just forget you, forget what we -" He stopped himself, his throat working.

James had thought nothing could be worse than the lost, lonely years without Steve, but the look of devastation on Steve's face was more terrible than anything he'd ever experienced. "I don't know what I thought," he said, stepping forward. He wanted, more than anything, to erase that look, to make up for all the damage he'd caused. "Stevie, you gotta understand, I didn't have a choice -"

Steve cut him off with a violent sweep of his hand. "You _did_ have a choice. You could have come to me and we could have faced whatever it was together, just like always."

"They were gonna kill you if I didn't go with them. I couldn't tell you." Even now, just thinking about it sent a jolt of ice racing through his blood, chilling him to the bone. "I disappeared to protect you."

"The world's been doing its damnedest to kill me since I drew my first breath," Steve told him. His hands were curled into tight fists at his sides. "No one's taking me down without a fight."

James knew that better than anyone. He doubted St. Peter and all the Archangels in Heaven combined could get Steve to move so much as an inch if he didn't feel like budging. But, the instinctual urge to protect, to defend – that wasn't so easily cast aside. "I couldn't take that risk. Not where you were concerned."

The fact that it had taken him five years to make damn sure nothing like this would ever happen again – that the people who'd threatened Steve, who'd forced James into their employ, were dead – told him he'd made the right choice. The only choice. He'd hated every single day, but he knew he'd do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant Steve was safe.

"You ever stop to consider that that road goes both ways?" Steve asked, with a small, ironic smile. "There's not a fucking thing I wouldn't do for you. Not a line I wouldn't cross, a person I wouldn't go through. It's always been me and you and fuck _everything_ else. The rest of it doesn't matter. Not without you."

More than the sight of the sun rising along the Brooklyn skyline, more than his own freedom, James had missed this. The hot, possessive look in Steve's eyes that he knew mirrored his own need and possession. He couldn't think of anything more important, more vital to his survival and well-being, than the electricity and power they created together.

Maybe the reasons they'd been driven apart from each other weren't important. Maybe the lost years didn't matter, either. Maybe nothing mattered except that they'd found a way back to each other.

"I've missed you. I missed you so much, Steve. You have no idea how –" He broke off, helpless, hurting. Wanting so much it was a physical ache. A wound that had never fully healed.

In answer, Steve held out a hand. James took one step, then the next, until Steve was standing close enough to touch. The feel of their palms sliding together was like touching a current, energy pulsing and crackling between them. James felt vibrant, alive, aware. For the first time in five years, he could truly breathe again.

"You're back." Steve said it so simply. Like a deep-seated truth too plain to ignore. "I don't care how it happened."

"It _does_ matter, but I don't wanna waste our first night together arguing over the whys and wherefores," James replied, and laced their fingers together tight. He was never letting go. "The band out there sounded amazing, by the way."

Steve tugged him even closer. "Five years gone and you want to talk about music right now? Really?"

James shrugged. "Seems safer than anything else." Because everything else involved either making damn sure Steve knew just how sorry he was for all the hurt and pain he'd caused, or a lot more privacy than they were going to get in this office.

"If I'd wanted safe, I'd have never looked at you twice," Steve pointed out, with a wry twist to his lips.

"I'm plenty safe," James protested, with his own grin. His first real smile in a very long time.

"Sure," Steve agreed. Their chests and hips brushed against each other, a teasing touch. "In the same way a tornado is perfectly safe – _if_ you're standing in the eye of it."

James toyed with the hairs at Steve's nape. He never wanted to stop touching Steve again as long as he lived. "Are you calling me destructive and capricious?"

Steve's grin widened, that mischievous boy's smile James loved so much. "You're the one that said it, not me."

"I'm not sure if I should be insulted or not."

In answer, Steve just rested his forehead against James', breathed him in like he'd never get enough. James knew how he felt. "Whatever we have to do, we'll do it," Steve said, each soft word a pledge. "I can protect you, you know I can."

"This isn't about you being able to –"

Steve stopped him with a kiss – quick, sharp, his teeth nipping at James' bottom lip. "Shut the fuck up and _let_ me protect you, if it comes to it."

James all but melted at the look of steely determination in Steve's blue eyes. Eyes he'd dreamed about every night. Eyes he never thought he'd see again. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, meaning the words with everything in him. He wasn't letting anyone or anything take him from Steve's side, not while he had breath in his body. "I swear to you right now on a stack of Bibles, nothing is taking me from you again."

Steve combed his hands through James' hair. His smile was fuck you wide and all grit and steel. "You're damn right you're not going anywhere. Because I'm not letting you out of my sight again. Not tonight, not _ever_."

James yanked Steve flush against him, the heat of Steve's body racing along his spine. Anticipation and relief warring for dominance, all of it culminating in _finally_ and _yes_ and _home_. "You act like there's anywhere else I'd rather be," he said, and sealed the words with a kiss. Slow, deep, carnal, _perfect_. A declaration of possession, of intent.

A promise he was determined to keep.

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [Barnes & Rogers 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/121587) ficlet for the 5 minute fic challenge

"You know, I hate to see you leave, but watching you walk away is a goddamn gift to mankind and my eyes."

Steve doesn't even bother to turn away from the punching bag. "That line's been old since 1935, Buck."

Bucky appears on the other side of the bag, gym clothes on, hair messily pulled back, and with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Yeah, but it still works every time to get you all blushing like that."

Steve sighs, and shakes his head. "Maybe I'm just all red because of the exercise, ever think about that?"

"Nah, you could punch this thing all damn day and not even breathe heavy." Bucky braces his hands against the bag, and leans in to really giving Steve some resistance. "Lying's a sin, you know, what would your sainted mother think."

Steve starts hitting the bag again, hard enough to bruise his hands if he wasn't all enhanced. It doesn't even budge. "Remind me why I like having you around?"

Bucky shrugs, and the grin gets even wider. "Well, there _is_ that thing I do with my tongue to the underside of your dick..."

Steve can feel the blush intensify, but doesn't stop. "I can train anyone to do that."

"If you could, you'd have done it already." Bucky abruptly lets go of the bag, and catches Steve neatly in his arms when he stumbles forward. "Face it, babe, you love me."

"I do love your tongue trick, this is true," Steve admits, even as he wraps his arms around Bucky's waist to pull him them flush together, despite how sweaty he is.

Bucky smiles into the kiss, and is still smiling when they part. "C'mon, soldier, I got a much better idea about how you can exercise."

***


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Things you said that I wish you hadn't

Steve could hear the chants and shouts from the rally echoing down the street – _Hail Hydra, Hail Hydra_ – as he kept his head down and hustled into the alley. The cameras were everywhere, all present and all seeing, but Steve had been patrolling these streets for years, and knew every blind spot within ten clicks. Besides, patrols in this sector were lax at best – too many homeless and displaced, too many disenfranchised and downtrodden, for any credible threat. Everyone who called this area home had either been mind-wiped for the crime of suspected treason and remembered nothing of their former lives, or they were too tired and poor and hungry to care.

Which made it the perfect place for SHIELD's base of operations.

Steve ducked under a rusted-out awning of a long ago abandoned building and rapped three times on the metal door. The eye-level slot slide open, revealing a pair of alert brown eyes. One brow raised in silent question and Steve quickly shook his head – he hadn't been followed – and then he heard the heavy clang of the lock as the door swung open.

Sam, plasma blaster at the ready, greeted him. He peered past Steve into the alley and, satisfied, gestured Steve inside. The door slammed shut a moment later and was locked again, and the alarm was reset. Steve knew, because he'd helped design and build the place, that the compound could withstand any plasma cannon on the market and even hellfire missiles, but they'd all rather not have to put it to the test. The longer SHIELD could work in the shadows and under the radar of the watchful eye of the AMS cameras, the better off they'd be.

"Did you see Maria?" Sam asked, falling into step beside Steve as they headed down two flights of steps and walked down the long corridor to the main set of rooms.

Steve swiped his fraying knit cap off his head, and ran a hand through shaggy blond hair. He felt grimy as fuck under the filthy, patched up outfit he was wearing, but it was critical he be able to move about unseen. Disguising himself as a beggar was the perfect camouflage.

"I did. And she's good," Steve finally said, clapping a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'll brief everyone as soon as I get cleaned up. Did the others make it back okay?"

Sam nodded. "Sharon and Nat rolled back in an hour ago. _With_ the V3 chips, before you ask."

"Really, that quick?" Steve tried to keep the shock out of his voice, but knew he failed if Sam's wide, gap-toothed smirk was anything to go by.

"Come on, Cap, our ladies could find water on the moon if they put their minds to it. Conning a couple of tech-heads out of a little bit of hardware is child's play for them."

"Hey, it might be a milk run as far as their capabilities are concerned, but those chips are critical to the next phase of our mission. They should feel proud," he said. "How'd Bucky do, or is he still out in the field?"

Sam's look was all-knowing. "Got back five minutes before you. And if you get a move on, you _might_ even be able to join him in the shower."

Steve's pulse jumped, but he schooled his face into impassiveness and just nodded. "Tell the others we're meeting in the plan room in fifteen minutes for a mission debrief."

Sam snorted. "I'll tell them thirty."

" _Fifteen_ ," Steve repeated, ignoring Sam's laugh, and headed towards the spartan quarters he and Bucky shared.

Steve could hear the shower running as he shut the door behind him, and he wasted no time in stripping out of his grungy clothing and walking to the bathroom. He could see the blurred outline of Bucky's body on the other side of the glass, and allowed himself one private moment of relief that they'd both made it back to the compound safely. Every time they ventured out under the ever-present Hydra cameras, they risked capture - torture and death, if they were lucky; mind-wipes and catatonia, if they weren't.

But they were getting closer to having all the pieces in place to make their move. And, this close to success, it was critical for all of them to remember what they were fighting for. To remember the consequences if they failed.

The sliding glass door opened and Bucky popped his head out. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp. Lines of water ran in rivulets down wide shoulders and across a muscled chest. "You planning on joining me or were you just going to stand there naked all night?"

"Maybe I like being filthy," Steve replied, but stepped into the shower and into Bucky's strong arms. Bucky twisted so Steve was under the spray, and he sighed in pleasure as the hot water hit his neck and shoulders.

Bucky smiled, rakish and wide, and pulled Steve flush against him. "If it's filthy you want, sweetheart, there are a helluva lot more pleasurable ways to go about it."

"I'm listening," Steve said, and buried his hands in wet hair as their lips and tongues slid together. The kiss quickly grew heated, both of them running slick hands along bare skin.

They broke for breath, gasping, and Steve took advantage of the moment to curl his fingers around Bucky's cock. "We need to be quick," he gasped out between kisses, tightening his grip and starting a steady rhythm. "Called a mission debrief in fifteen."

"Plenty of time," Bucky groaned, and wrapped his hand around Steve's cock, matching Steve stroke for stroke.

Neither one lasted long – they never did after they'd been apart on a mission – but it wasn't about the sex as much as it was about reaffirming that they were both still alive. That they were still free, and they'd both made it one more day. This was about reassuring themselves and each other that they could still feel want and desire, that the personas they put on outside the compound were simply masks they had to wear for survival. And that, no matter what they were forced to do for the mission, they would always come back to each other. To _this_ – the warmth and safety they found together in languid kisses and gliding touches and murmured words of love and reconnection.

Afterwards, they both quickly took turns washing each other, each taking note of new marks and scars, and then stepped out of the shower. Bucky grabbed two towels and tossed one Steve's way.

"Did you manage to get close enough to talk to Maria?" he asked, scrubbing the towel over his hair.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, for just a second. She's pretty well surrounded, so we had to be careful, but it was a productive meet."

"And you're both positive her cover is solid?"

Steve walked to the dresser and pulled out a clean set of clothes. "Yeah, Brock trusts her. She's in the inner circle now."

"You know, if anything happens -"

Steve shook his head once, sharply. " _Don't_."

Bucky threw up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just being realistic here."

"The odds have been against us from day one, so fuck your realism." Steve jerked on his pants. "Right now, it's not going to help us."

Bucky just grinned and pulled Steve to him by his belt loops. "Anyone ever tell you you're sexy as fuck when you get all irate."

"Yeah, you," Steve huffed, but looped his arms around Bucky's neck. "You're a dick, you know that, right."

"Just keeping it real." Bucky shrugged, unapologetic. "This entire mission is a bigass risk, and you know it."

"One all of us, including Maria, volunteered for," Steve reminded him. "And I know she'll do what she needs to."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I'm not worried about her being able to stick it out. She's got the biggest balls out of all of us, and no one's doubting her commitment to the cause. But I _am_ worried for her if anything goes belly up. She doesn't have an extraction plan if it all goes to shit."

"She won't need one," Steve replied, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Maria's the smartest person I've ever met outside of Natasha. And we need her on the inside. And we _definitely_ need the intel."

"I know," Bucky replied, brushing Steve's bangs out of his eyes. "You're the one driving this train, Steve, and you know we all trust you, no matter what. Our fearless leader."

Steve nuzzled at Bucky's hand, pressed a kiss to his palm. "You know better than anyone that I'm not fearless at all."

"Yeah, but you don't let that stop you from doing what needs to be done."

Mission first, everything else second. This was too important for anything less than 100% commitment on everyone's part. "Speaking of, are we set for weapons?" Steve asked.

With another kiss, Bucky nodded and stepped back so he could grab his pants and yank them on. "It took a little creative maneuvering, but I got us what we needed."

"Anything I should be worried about?"

"No, but you will anyway." Bucky smiled as he pulled on his shirt, even though they both knew he wasn't joking. "It's what you're good at."

Steve didn't bother to argue. A good leader worried; that was part and parcel of the job. "You ready to head out?" he asked. He checked the clock – two minutes to spare. Not that the team would care too much if they were a little late, but Steve was a firm believer in leading by example.

"After you," Bucky said, and kept a reassuring hand on the small of Steve's back as they headed down the corridor into the war room.

***


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Things you said after it was over – [Barnes & Rogers 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/121587)

The second Steve returned to the quinjet, he tossed his helmet aside and planted his feet apart, arms crossed over his chest, to wait for Bucky to jog up the ramp into the main bay. "We need to talk."

"Can't it wait?" When Bucky made a move to go around him, he sidestepped, to block Bucky's path. They were going to get this settled before the rest of the team joined them if it killed him in the process.

"No," he answered, with a jab to Bucky's kevlar vest. "What the fuck happened out there?"

Bucky knocked Steve's finger aside with an angry swipe. "The perimeter was compromised. I had to make a different call."

"You almost got yourself and Sam _killed_!" Steve hissed. Every muscle in his body tensed with the effort of holding himself still. He wasn't going to lose his temper, no matter how much he wanted to take a swing. This wasn't something a good, bruising fight, and equally bruising fuck after, could fix.

"But I didn't," Bucky replied, with a nonchalant shrug that was the last straw.

"Fine," Steve bit out, digging his nails into his palms, the sharp pain honing his focus. If Bucky wanted to play it this way, then they'd fucking play it this way. "You're grounded until further notice."

He turned to take his seat, and was yanked back around by Bucky's hard clamp on his shoulder. "What the _fuck_ , Rogers?"

Steve glanced at Bucky's hand, then stared coolly back at flashing blue eyes, meeting the glare head-on. If Bucky thought he was going to back down, then he'd forgotten who the hell he was dealing with. "Take your hand off me."

"Screw you." Bucky dropped his hold and stepped back. A vein in his neck pulsed with every short, sharp inhale of breath. "You _need_ me out there watching your six."

"No, I _need_ you to follow my fucking orders and not go off half-cocked because you don't feel like listening to me," Steve retorted. He raked a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers came away damp with sweat. Every muscle in his body ached, a dull throb, from the earlier battle. "And if you can't do that, then I don't have a place for you on my team."

"Sam and I saved a lot of people," Bucky argued. He was all but vibrating with tension, both hands balled into fists at his sides. Steve knew just how he felt.

"Nat and Rhodey were handling it. I needed you with Vision."

"Steve –"

"Look, Buck, if you don't trust me now, that's fine. I get it." Steve's shoulders slumped as the adrenaline and anger that had carried him through the end of the battle until now melted away, leaving only a bone-deep weariness in its place. "I fucked up once, and it got you captured and tortured for over seventy –"

" _Jesus_ , are you still blaming yourself for that?" Bucky dragged his flesh hand over his face. He looked as tired as Steve felt. "I thought we'd moved past this."

Steve flinched, but held his ground. "I thought we had, too, but if that's –"

"Stop. Just... _Steve_. C'mere, alright." Bucky grabbed one of Steve's hands, and tugged him close. "I don't blame you, and that's not what today was about," he said, voice soft, a plea to listen. "I made a combat decision based on what was happening on the ground, and I'd do it again if it meant saving lives. You'd have made the same one."

"I gave the order to Clint to take out the building." Steve was trembling now; he could feel the fine tremors in his limbs, racing inward to lodge in his chest. "If Sam hadn't gone back for you..."

"But he did," Bucky assured him. Brought their foreheads together. He was still holding Steve's hand, the point of contact another tactile reminder that Bucky was with him. They'd each made it back in one piece.

"I _can't_ lose you again...I can't..." Steve could barely whisper the words, could barely even _think_ them.

"You won't." Bucky's kiss was fleeting, gentle. Another reminder, another wordless promise. "But you gotta trust me out there, okay."

Steve nodded, swallowed, and pulled Bucky to him so he could wrap his arms around Bucky's waist. Close enough to feel the comforting beat of Bucky's heart alongside his own. _Here now. Safe._

They were still holding each other, murmuring assurances and apologies between kisses and shared breaths, when the rest of the team finally joined them.

***


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Confined spaces or closet sex

"Jesus, Steve, would you stay fucking _quiet_ ," Bucky grunts, an annoyed huff that's somewhat ruined by the way he's sliding a spit-slick fist along Steve's cock nice and steady, like they've got all night instead of just a few stolen minutes. The door shielding them from the outside world might be solid oak, but Bucky can still hear the muted sounds of the orchestra on the stage and the laughter and cacophony of voices from all the other guests at the charity event.

The small, airless closet where they're hiding is suffocatingly hot, and filled almost to the brim with coats and jackets. The only real light is coming through the large slit at bottom of the door, making the space look like something out of a noir film, hued in silvery grey. Every time Bucky tries to take a breath, it's like he's inhaling soup. His skin is rolling in sweat under his suit, beads of it steadily rolling along his forehead, dampening his armpits and no doubt staining his once crisp, white shirt.

Not that he gives a good goddamn, not when he's got Steve kneading his ass, and Steve's thick, hard cock in his hand, and Steve's pretty, long-lashed eyes clouding over in pleasure. Honestly, Bucky doesn't care if the whole world hears what they're up to, but part of the fun of sneaking off like this is, well, the sneaking. Feeling like they're getting away with something. And since nothing revs Steve up more than the possibility of getting caught, pants down, dick out, Bucky always does his best when they do something like this to make sure Steve's aware of just how precarious their situation is. 

"You _know_ the door doesn't have a lock," he continues, gaze flicking to the doorknob, then back to Steve's flushed face, his meaning clear. Steve's so gorgeous like this, too – his tux still mostly in place (except one key area where it isn't) and his hair still combed back from his forehead; but under the calm, perfect surface, he's radiating hunger and so much need that Bucky's own knees threaten to buckle under the force of it.

Steve lets out a low, frustrated groan in answer, and yanks on Bucky's lapels to pull him into a hard, messy meeting of lips that's more heavy breathing and tongues and desperation than anything resembling an actual kiss. Not that Bucky minds that, either. He likes – okay, he fucking _loves_ – knowing he can get Steve so worked up that Steve forgets manners and technique and everything else that's not Bucky. Plus, the kiss has the added benefit of shutting Steve up so Bucky can concentrate on each stroke of his fingers along Steve's length.

"Killin' me here," Steve growls, grazing his teeth along Bucky's jaw. The sharp, low sound of Steve's voice streaks down Bucky's spine, then spreads until it infects every part of his body with his own need, his own hunger to possess and own and _take_. 

"Your idea," Bucky reminds him, then shuts him up with another hard kiss, another flick of his wrist, changing angle and speed just enough to keep Steve off-balance. They may not have much time before their absence is noticed, but Bucky's not about to let something as trifling as a time constraint keep him from taking Steve apart the way Steve wants him to. 

"Shit, _shit_ , Buck –" Steve manages to bite back the moan this time, his breath heavy and loud against Bucky's ear. Bucky shoves him against the wall again, drags his thumb along the slit, smearing pre-come all along the head, and it's suddenly too much temptation to resist, and honestly, why is he even trying? Bucky drops gracelessly to his knees, the sound a dull thud against the carpet, and takes Steve's cock as deep down his throat as he can, reveling in the salt-musk taste coating his tongue.

Steve fists shaking hands in Bucky's hair, yanks so hard Bucky's eyes start watering, and this right here is fucking perfect – from the small, locomotive-fast pants Steve makes every time Bucky curls his tongue along the underside, to the way Steve's rocking his hips forward to meet Bucky halfway. Bucky groans his pleasure, slides his lips up and down in an easy glide, and risks a quick peek up to make sure Steve's still with him. Heavy-lidded eyes meet his own as bitten-red lips part in an 'oh' of wordless sound, and even though Bucky can't really see it from this angle, he knows full well that Steve's blush has spread from his cheeks to his throat and chest. 

_Beautiful_ , Bucky thinks, and _I am the luckiest man on the fucking planet_ and _C'mon, Steve, gimme everything you got, I can take it_. And Steve, as he always does, seems to read Bucky's thoughts, because his look goes soft and those gorgeous lips of his sigh Bucky's name like he's reciting a prayer. And then those clever, artist's fingers trail along Bucky's face and neck, and his thrusts turn from desperate to slow and rhythmic, like he's savoring every moment the same way Bucky is. After that, it's easy enough to relax his throat, to let Steve take control, and put all of his efforts into making Steve come.

The world – and its requisite responsibilities – can just fucking wait. 

***


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Something fluffy - [Gee & Buchanan 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/293780)

Steve hears the purring before he sees them – Gee's loud enough on a normal day, but when either Steve or Bucky bring her along when they take Buchanan on his walks, it's like she bumps it up to eleven or twelve on the Richter Scale. And Bucky can say what he wants (most of it wrong, because he often is), but Gee absolutely loves it when Bucky cuddles with her or takes her out.

But when Steve rounds the corner of the path of their local park and sees Bucky standing like he's frozen in place, surrounded by a group of teenage girls, he has to stop for a few seconds to assess the situation. The girls look like they're all part of a track team or some organized event, given that they're all wearing matching shorts and tees and have matching scrunchies in their hair. Two of the girls are crouched on their haunches giving an ecstatic Buchanan all of the belly rubs he can handle, and the other two are cooing over…Bucky's _jacket_? What the hell?

It's only when Steve takes a step forward that he sees Gee curled up in a furry ball against Bucky's chest. Which, okay, sure, that makes a lot more sense. Not that Bucky's not the hottest thing going on the planet on any given day (yeah sure, Steve's probably biased, sue him), but his particular brand of Tall, Dark and Broody doesn't normally invite the sort of fawning behavior Steve is witnessing right now. Especially from teenage girls.

Adorable pets, on the other hand, are pretty much fair game for all age groups.

" _Steve_ , there you are!" Bucky calls, and it's only when Steve is almost at Bucky's side that he sees the look of sheer panic on Bucky's face.

"Hey, babe," he says, and places a hand at the small of Bucky's back, letting Bucky know he's here and it's okay, whatever it is that's wrong. "Ladies," he adds, and receives four identical beaming smiles in return.

"Your dog is so cute!" one of them exclaims, and it seems to open the floodgates for the others.

"And your kitten, oh my God, she's so _tiny_ , I could eat her with a spoon –"

"– And you guys take her out for _walks_ , that's the cutest thing ever –"

"– I can't _even_ with all of the adorable –"

"– I feel so personally violated right now –"

"– Oh, puppy, are we neglecting you, here's some more belly rubs, who's a _good_ doggo –" 

"They've been at it for fifteen minutes," Bucky murmurs, leaning in to brush the words across Steve's ear. "I don't know what to _do_."

"You texted a Code _Orange_ for this?" Steve replies, just as quietly. 

Bucky just gives him a glare in return, and follows it with a _fix it!_ elbow to his side. The feared and fierce Winter Soldier at the mercy of a group of sixteen year-old girls. 

This might be the best day of Steve's life.

"Hey, so, you guys go to school around here?" Steve asks the group. He keeps his hand where it is, rubs his thumb in soothing circles along the base of Bucky's spine under his jacket. Partially because he can, but mostly to let Bucky know he's got this. It may be a ridiculous mission, but it's still a mission, and Steve is nothing if not a master tactician.

"Yeah, up the street," one of them says. "We should probably get back before Coach wonders if we've quit or something."

"We're reparing for a track meet this weekend," another adds. 

"Thanks for letting us pet your dog," another says, with a bright smile.

"And your cat," the last one says. "Seriously, too cute."

"Anytime," Steve tells them, and nudges slightly at Bucky, who pastes a sickly sweet smile on his face.

"It was nice meeting you," Bucky says, in the least sincere voice Steve has ever heard. Thankfully, the girls don't seem to notice.

Buchanan, predictably, lets out a mournful bark at losing the rubs and the attention, but Gee just clambers from Bucky's shirt to Steve's shoulder and curls up in her usual ball. She's still purring loud enough to wake the dead, but Steve's well used to the noise by now.

"You gonna be okay?" he asks, not even bothering to hold back his grin at Bucky's relieved expression.

"It was terrifying. They just descended on me out of nowhere. I didn't have an exit strategy."

"You poor thing," Steve says, and presses a light kiss to that pouting mouth. "You've brought down governments single-handedly, but a high school track team is your downfall."

"Trust me, a gun to my head I can handle a lot easier," Bucky grumbles, but leans against Steve's side. "Thanks for the rescue."

"Anytime," Steve says, with another kiss.

***


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Your opinion on coffee beverages and brick-red henley shirts

Steve wakes up first, but only because they hadn't closed the curtains all the way the night before, and the sun is shining right in his eyes. He turns his head, groaning in protest, and the sight that greets him is much better. 

Bucky's still sprawled on his stomach, dark hair obscuring his face, and clutching his pillow like it's a stuffed animal. Steve would never say it out loud (at least, not in Bucky's presence, because he likes his balls right where they are, thank you), but the way Bucky looks when he's asleep is actually pretty cute. He's vulnerable and sweet in the way that he so rarely allows himself to be when fully awake, and that's okay, because Steve loves every acerbic, sarcastic inch of Bucky, too. He loves that Bucky gives as good as he gets, that Bucky keeps Steve on his toes both on the field and at home, that they're still them after everything they've been through and everything they've endured.

Steve spends a quiet moment tracing the thick welts and scars around Bucky's shoulder with his eyes, letting his gaze linger on the muscled lines of his back and hips, and the way the sheet barely covers the swell of the best ass on the planet. He is a damn lucky man, no two ways about it. But, he keeps his hands and lips to himself – no matter how tempting Bucky looks like this, he needs the rest more. True sleep comes so rarely for both of them; it'd be a shame to interrupt it, even for pleasure.

Steve carefully inches his way out of the bed, watches Bucky for any sign that he's awake, and keeps one eye on the figure on the bed while he pats around at the floor for his clothes. The jeans are his, but when he pulls the henley over his head, it smells just like Bucky – sharp and slightly metallic. Steve shivers, and closes his eyes, breathes in deep. It's like wearing one of Bucky's frequent, long-lasting hugs, like wrapping himself in armor that no bullet or blade could pierce. 

Maybe he'll start wearing one of Bucky's tank tops under his uniform from now on. 

He quickly slides his feet into his trainers and swipes his wallet from the bedside table. If he's lucky, he'll make it to the little bodega on the corner and back before Bucky stirs, and he can wake Bucky up himself with the mouth-watering aroma of freshly-brewed coffee and freshly-baked bagels. And maybe a few kisses or ten, because he can do that now. He can kiss Bucky awake and see those beautifully expressive eyes blink open, can feel soft lips against his as they say _good morning_ and _I love you_ without words. 

The morning is theirs, the day is theirs, and Steve can't wait to get started.

***


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bucky alone for his birthday, but in a way that's not all bad. Steve's on a mission and Bucky just wants a day to be 100% self indulgent in a weird way he couldn't do with anyone else around.

"…You're _sure_ you're okay –"

"For the last time, Steve, I'm great," Bucky says, transferring his phone to his other ear and reaching for the Starkpad on the other end of the sofa. "No one's blowing up my phone begging me to drop everything I'm doing to come and save their ass, I haven't been shot at once –"

"– it's 7am in New York, Buck, no one's even awake yet –"

"– And I have an entire day free from meetings or endless post-op paperwork," Bucky finishes, blithely ignoring Steve, because he's been a master at it since they were six years old and why ruin a good thing, "so I am amazing."

"You really don't mind that you're all alone on your birthday?" Steve asks, in that mildly concerned tone that means he's really freaking out about it but trying to be stoic. Bucky knows every single one of Steve's tricks and tells, every one hardwired into his system, something no one had been able to take from him.

Bucky shakes his head, fond and exasperated. Steve's honestly lucky Bucky loves him the way he does, because who else would put up with the mother-henning and think it's sexy? "I'm not saying I don't miss your ugly mug, but I'm good," he says. "I'm kinda looking forward to spending the day just…doing whatever the fuck I want."

Steve chuckles, appeased. "Well, if anyone's earned a day off, it's you. I love you."

"Love you too," Bucky replies, with a goofy smile that he's just as happy no one's around to see. "Now go on and finish your mission so you can get home for some proper belated birthday celebrations."

"On it," Steve promises, and Bucky's still smiling when they hang up a minute later.

***

Bucky hums to himself as he dumps a generous amount of Fig+Yarrow's Floral Milk Bath crystals into the steaming hot water of the bathtub. The only light in the bathroom is from the dozen scented candles he has lit (possibly overkill, but fuck it, it's his birthday, go big or go home, right?), and he's got a nice, extra-large glass of some of Thor's special Asgardian wine poured and ready to go.

It's been the most relaxing day Bucky's had since, fuck, probably 1925 or close to it. He'd made himself a stack of blueberry pancakes for breakfast and had gotten caught up on the last season of Project Runway (Team Candice all the way), then booked himself a 90-minute massage at the spa up the block. Which had turned into a 3-hour self-indulgent extravaganza once he added a deep-tissue facial and an amazing mani/pedi on top of it. His toenails were now a beautiful shade of hot pink (although he'd insisted on clear polish for his fingernails, given his line of work and all - the last thing a sniper needed was attention drawn to their hands.) Then he'd come back to the house for a nice long nap, and after he'd woken up, had decided that a milk bath would be just the thing.

He shuts off the faucet and slips into the tub, hissing a little at the temperature. His skin turns instantly pink and sweat beads along his temples and under his arms. It's _just_ this side of unbearable – and absolutely perfect. He stretches out, thankful as hell that he and Steve had remodeled the bathroom when they'd first bought the place and installed a separate shower _and_ a bathtub big enough for the two of them to fit in comfortably. Shadows dance merrily along the walls from the flickering candles, and Bucky spends a few minutes picking out patterns and shapes – it feels a little like lying back on the grass and watching the clouds. Silly and ridiculous and fanciful.

The wine is crisp and cool on his tongue, the bold flavors contrasting nicely with the rose-scent of the candles and the bath foam. He sinks deeper into the tub, head lolling back against the porcelain, feet propped up against the tub's edge, and drifts off, eyes closed, body relaxed, mind blessedly free of all thoughts.

He doesn't even stir when he hears the muffled sound of the front door opening and then closing and soft steps coming down the hallway. (He _knows_ that step, always has, even when the body it belongs to had been smaller.) In fact, he stays right where he is until he feels dry lips on his brow (lips he'd also know anywhere), and even then, he only rouses himself enough to tilt his head and silently ask for a proper kiss. Steve huffs out a laugh, and indulges him, tongue slipping past his parted lips, everything heated and taffy-sweet.

"You look relaxed," Steve says, when they part, then Bucky feels light fingers dance along the inside of his ankle and the top of his foot. "Love the toenail polish. Very sexy."

"I was told pink is in this season." Then Bucky cracks open one eyelid, and gives Steve a quick look. "You're overdressed," he says, and closes his eyes again. "Get naked already and get in here."

"But still as bossy as ever," Steve laments, but Bucky can hear the rustle of clothing dropping to the tiled floor a second later.

"When it's your birthday, you can be the bossy one," he says, then sighs in satisfaction when Steve slides in behind him, and wraps his arms around Bucky's waist.

"You good?" Steve murmurs, brushing a light kiss across the shell of Bucky's ear.

"Perfect now," Bucky replies, and smiles.

***


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bucky is having a really shit day, the kind of day where every little thing goes wrong and its his birthday and somehow at the end of this really shit day there is Steve and he makes it better

Bucky scowls in confusion at the large to-go cup and the larger slice of coconut cake that appear at his elbow. "I didn't order that," he says to the barista who'd set both down on the minuscule free space on his table.

She just puts down a fork and napkin and shrugs. "Compliments of the cute hipster guy in the glasses in the back corner."

"The huh?" Bucky twists in his seat and, yep, there's a dude in glasses sitting at the corner table, alright, books spread out around him just like Bucky. He's also dressed, like Bucky, for serious studying, in jeans, a t-shirt, and a soft-looking fleece hoodie. 

But cute? That's a bit of an understatement. Yeah, the guy's on the lean side, but he's got an aura about him that just screams strength of will – Bucky thinks he looks like a guy you'd want to have on your side in a fight. He's also got a jaw so sharp it looks like it could cut glass and the most beautiful eyes Bucky's ever seen in real life, and lips so soft-looking they remind Bucky of clouds or cotton candy.

Soft-looking lips that are, in fact, curving up into a sunshine-bright smile as the guy unfolds himself from his chair and heads Bucky's way. Bucky's pretty sure he's got a permanent dumbfounded expression on his face, because _fuck_ , this guy is just too much. Cute is definitely selling him short.

"Hi," the guy says, and drops into the seat across from Bucky. Behind his glasses, he's got the longest eyelashes Bucky's ever seen on anyone, male or female. He holds out a hand, and Bucky notes the elegant taper to his fingers. "I'm Steve."

"Bucky," he replies, on automatic pilot, and offers his own hand. The guy – _Steve_ , his mind supplies – has a nice solid grip, the handshake lingering for a few endless seconds.

"Nice to meet you." Then Steve gestures at the cake and the coffee, both still sitting right where the barista had placed them, among all of Bucky's books and his laptop. "I, uh, I hope I haven't overstepped, but…" A very charming blush appears on those high cheekbones as Steve brushes white-blond bangs off of his forehead with a careless sweep. "I kinda overheard you in line on the phone with your friend and thought, well, y'know, you needed a pick-me-up."

"Overheard me? Oh, you mean when I was talking to Clint?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah, sure? You just –" Steve shrugs, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "You were talking about what a shitty day you were having and how you have a test tomorrow and mentioned your birthday so I thought – I mean, it was probably a dumb idea –"

"No, no, it's." Bucky reaches across the table without thinking, puts his hand over Steve's. "That's super cool of you," he says, touched to his core at the gesture, and also a little in awe. How was Steve even real? "Thank you."

Steve smiles again, not as bright as earlier, but it warms Bucky up all the same. "Everyone deserves cake on their birthday, I think. It's probably a law somewhere."

Bucky laughs, feeling lighter than he has all semester, the extreme suckitude of his day so far rolling off of him like it had never even existed. "You, uh, you wanna share it with me?" he asks, belatedly realizing he hasn't moved his hand, and neither has Steve. "It's a pretty big slice."

"You sure?" Steve asks, with a concerned look. "I don't want to interrupt you –"

"You wouldn't be, I promise," Bucky says, with a reassuring smile. He thinks he could probably stare at Steve all day and not get sick of it. "In fact, I insist. Birthday boy's rule."

"Okay." Steve ducks his head a little, but Bucky can see the pleased expression on his face. "In that case, I'd be honored."

"Okay then," Bucky replies, and he just knows, somewhere deep in his gut, that this is going to go down as the best birthday he's ever had.

***


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bucky believes that Steve's faith in him is based in misplaced idealism.

"You know I'm not him."

The statement, softly spoken, still carries with it the force of a well-timed punch. Steve stiffens for the briefest of moments (he still knows better than to hope Bucky wouldn't notice), but his hands are still rock steady as he finishes loading the spare magazines. The table is weighed down with weapons, supplies, ammo, gear – everything they need to get them through the next few days.

Steve just hopes they'll both be alive at the end of them. (But if they do go down, well, at least they'll go down together and swinging.)

"Yeah, I know," he answers, just as soft, and glances up. Bucky hasn't moved; he's still standing on the opposite side of the table, looking at Steve with an inscrutable expression. His eyes are cool, the blue reminding Steve of the winter morning sky back in Brooklyn, too many years and far too many wars ago.

The corners of Bucky's mouth turn down minutely. "Then why are you doing this?" he asks, curiosity bleeding through the stillness.

Steve snaps the last magazine in place and straightens to his full height. Allows the weight of both the question and everything it implies to rest on his shoulders — a weight he'll willingly bear as long as he's got breath in his body. "Because you've been at the mercy of others for too long," he answers, as honestly as he knows how. "And, whoever you are these days, I trust your judgement a helluva lot more than I do Ross' or the government's or even Tony's."

Bucky's frown deepens, becomes something deeply, hauntingly familiar. "You really don't have any sense of self-preservation, do you?"

Steve laughs, because it's either that or cry, and he's pretty sure Bucky would take his tears the wrong way. "I really don't," he says, with a small shrug. "I never did. Especially not where you're concerned."

Bucky just stares at him for another moment, then shakes his head and holds out his left hand. "I guess it's a good thing one of us knows what we're doing."

Steve drops one of the magazines in Bucky's palm. The clang of metal against metal sounds like a vow. "Just tell me where you want me," he says, and smiles.

If it's the two of them against the world, Steve will take that bet every single time.

***


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidentally getting into petty heroism on a date/random stroll/dinner.

There are a lot of perks to dating Steve: he's devious and quick-witted and he'll always have your back in a fight. Not to mention he's got an ass that won't quit - and, these days, stamina that also doesn't quit. But sometimes Bucky thinks it might be nice, just once, to have an evening out that doesn't end with flying fists or bloodshed or someone shooting at them or him dragging Steve away before the big lug causes yet another international incident because he can't just leave well enough alone.

"Swear to Jesus, you're a fucking menace to society," Bucky laments, mournfully eyeing their table and the ruined remnants of what had been a pretty romantic dinner before things had gone to hell. He yanks Steve down behind the bar right as the machine gun fire starts again, and levels a glare right at Steve's stupidly chiseled profile. "Anyone ever tell you you've got as much self-preservation as a suicidal lemming?"

"Sure, you do," Steve says, with an insouciant shrug and a smile that Bucky wants to punch right off his ridiculous, handsome face. "All the time."

"One day I really am gonna let you get killed, and then what're you gonna do?" Bucky asks, raising his voice to be heard over the noise, and grabs a piece of broken mirror to hold up to discern the shooters' locations. Two, at opposite ends of the dining room, both of 'em firing AKs. They've had worse odds.

Steve leans over to brush a quick kiss to Bucky's jaw. "You'd be too lonely without me."

"I'd get to have dessert for once without you," Bucky corrects, then tosses Steve one of his guns. "One's at two, one's at eight."

"Got it." Steve flicks off the safety, then nudges Bucky's shoulder. "We'll get ice cream on the way home, how's that?"

"I want Ooey Gooey from Ample Hills, and the first blowjob's on you."

"Deal," Steve says, just as the bottles on the counter above them all explode in a shower of glass and alcohol.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Bucky sighs, and reels Steve in for a hard, biting kiss before getting to work. 

***


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pre-War, celebrating Valentine's Day together

It's not like they've got two extra pennies to rub together most days – Bucky makes enough at the Market to pay the rent and Steve's got a decent enough job sweeping and cleaning up at the corner bar so they don't go hungry or anything – but it's hard-scrabble, lean living that doesn't leave much room for anything in the way of fripperies or indulgences. Just like everyone else they know, they're making do on what little they've got, grateful for every extra cent they can stash for a rainy day.

Still, they manage to make the little things count, to spin out small moments and quiet gestures into something that's theirs. What they have together is worth more than anything money could buy. And what they give each other is a gift more precious than anything found at any store.

It's in the way Bucky makes sure Steve's gloves are in his coat pockets before he goes tearing off (late as often as not) to the bar to start his shift. In the way that Steve wakes up first to start the coffee so it's ready by the time Bucky rolls out of bed, so he can catch a few more precious minutes of sleep before heading in for a long day's work. It's in the little notes Bucky leaves in every crevasse around the apartment for Steve to find every night, in the quick sketches Steve stuffs into Bucky's lunch bag every day.

It's in the penny flowers Bucky sometimes brings home ( _not as bright as your smile, Stevie, but you gotta admit they're pretty_ ) and the bottles of beer Steve's boss sometimes gives him if it's been a good night, shared up on the roof with the stars twinkling overhead. It's in slow dances in the tiny living room to the tune of whatever's playing on the neighbor's wireless, both of them pressed as tight as two pieces of paper, trading heartbeats and breaths with every turn.

It's in hushed whispers and heated hands on skin, in long drawn out kisses at the end of a long day, in patching each other up after a fight, or breathless laughter after a narrow escape.

They don't need the words, never have, never will. _I love you_ is written in the fabric of their souls, etched into their very bones, sighed out with every breath. They don't need a special day or a card to commemorate what they mean to each other. Steve feels it with every reverential slide of Bucky's lips on his skin; Bucky can hear it in Steve's wordless gasps every time they touch.

They may not have much, but it's theirs, every bit, and neither of them would trade what they've got for all the money in the world.

***


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Could you please write a little thing in the [Price Charming](http://archiveofourown.org/series/551824) 'verse where Steve, Bucky and Eddie watch the Cubs win the World Series?

"Holy shit, this game."

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad!" Eddie exclaimed, leaning around Steve to glare at Bucky.

"I think I’m allowed a language pass tonight, buddy," Bucky replied, and scooped up a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Steve’s lap.

"I have no idea how you can eat right now," Steve observed. "I don’t even have a dog in this fight and my stomach’s in knots."

"Stress eating," Bucky mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn, as the commercial break ended and Michael Martinez stepped up to the plate.

Eddie scooted to the edge of the sofa, eyes glued to the TV as Mike Montgomery threw a curveball for a strike. Bucky glanced at him, fond and more than a little proud, then exchanged a quick grin with Steve, before returning his attention to the TV.

"C’mon, Cubbies, c’mon," Eddie muttered, echoing the sentiments of Cubs fans all over the world, as Montgomery threw the next pitch and Martinez knocked it towards third.

"Oh God," Steve groaned, as Bryant slipped on the throw to first.

"C'mon, Kris, c'mon, c'mon," Bucky prayed, as Rizzo stretched to catch Bryant's lob to first.

"HOLY COW!!!" Eddie yelled, the second the ball hit Rizzo’s glove.

The Cubs were World Series champions.

For a second, Bucky could only stare at the screen in shock. "Holy. Shit."

They’d actually done it. The Curse was finally broken.

Then Eddie was bouncing on both of them with a war whoop, popcorn flying everywhere, and Steve pulled Bucky and Eddie in for a massive group hug, and Cap and Winter came running into the room, excitedly barking and trying to jump on the sofa to get in on the action, and it was total bedlam of the absolute best kind.

"Best World Series ever," Steve said, pressing a hard kiss to Bucky’s lips. 

"Best Game Seven ever," Bucky agreed, with a big grin. 

On TV, the players were hugging it out on the field and carrying players around on their shoulders and giving smiling interviews, over a century’s worth of pent up frustration and heartbreak and loss all erased.

Eddie clambered off the sofa to start jumping around the living room, singing at the top of his lungs, the dogs jumping and barking right along with him. Bucky knew just how they felt.

"Go Cubs Go, Go Cubs gooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, Hey Chicago What Do You Say, The Cubs Are Gonna Win Today!!"

***


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bucky *cough* dressing up Gee and Buchanan for Halloween. ([Gee & Buchanan 'verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/293780))

"You can’t be serious."

"C’mon, it’ll be fun," Steve says, all smiles, like what he’s suggesting is somehow _not_ the most insane thing he's ever said (which is saying something).

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Look, I know I promised I’d always have your back, but if you do this, you’re on your own."

Steve frowns. "But it’d be cute."

"If it was just the big guy, sure, cute as hell, the pics would break Instagram. But queen bee? Babe, we have to go out of the house and plan a battle strategy just to take her to the..." He pauses, flicks his gaze to the sofa, where Gee is curled up in a tiny ginger ball, seemingly sound asleep. But Bucky knows better. She’s a more cunning strategist than even he is, and he’d freely admit it to anyone who'd listen. "Well, you _know_ ," he finishes, not even willing to risk _spelling_ the word vet. Just in case.

"True," Steve concedes, and sighs again. "I still think it’d be cute."

"Oh my God, you’re actually pouting right now." Bucky laughs, grabbing Steve’s hand to reel him in before Steve stomps off to sulk in a corner. "You look ridiculous."

Steve shrugs and runs his hands along Bucky’s back, giving a winsome smile. "I know you meant irresistible."

"Keep telling yourself that," Bucky says, but accepts the kiss Steve brushes across his lips. The pout _is_ totally irresistible, but he’ll never admit it out loud. It wouldn't do to give Steve even more ammunition.

"You sure I can’t change your mind?" Steve murmurs, with big hopeful eyes. 

Bucky adores every hair on Steve’s body, but he’s standing firm on this one. "Even if you could _get_ an outfit on her that she couldn't wiggle out of in five seconds, we both know she’d take the indignity of wearing it out on Buchanan."

"Hmm, you might be on to something," Steve concedes, with a frown.

"I usually am." Bucky gives Steve another quick kiss. "Never forget the Christmas pic fiasco."

Steve shudders. "Yeah, okay, you win."

"I knew you'd see it my way."

***


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Aawwww would you write subspace for either Steve or Bucky? Something caring, with lots of love?

"Are you _sure_ you wanna do this, Buck?" Steve asks, the leather restraints Bucky'd given him dangling loose in his fingers. Just seeing them in Steve's hands is the biggest endorphin rush Bucky's ever felt, outside of taking a perfectly executed shot.

"Yes," Bucky replies, firm and sure. "You promised."

"I know I did." Steve drops his gaze to his hands. His voice is barely audible, even with Bucky's enhanced hearing. "I just, I dunno, I figured we'd...that you'd want..."

Bucky shushes him with a firm kiss, and a quicksilver grin. "I want that _after_ this. I wanna make out with you for hours, with your hands all over me, and then I want you to fuck me nice and slow and sweet until we're both crazy with how much we both wanna come. I want you to rub my back and wash my hair and for us to snuggle all night long, I swear to you, Stevie, all of that sounds amazing. But _after_."

"After." Steve blows out a harsh breath, and looks back down at the restraints. Bucky can practically _see_ the wheels turning in that big, beautiful brain. He takes the opportunity to step in closer, and runs a light finger along the inseam of Steve's jeans. Time to move in for the kill.

"You wanna know what I want right now, though?" he purrs, nipping at Steve's chiseled jaw.

Heat flashes in Steve's eyes. His free hand is steady and possessive on Bucky's hip. "What's that?"

"I want you to tie me to the bed, and I want you to crawl on top of me and work my ass open until I'm good and ready so you can shove the dildo I bought, _just_ for this occasion, deep inside me." He keeps his voice steady, low, keeps his gaze on Steve's, hungrily watching every flicker of those blue eyes, every small shiver that means Steve's still with him.

He leans in, close enough to paint the next words along the shell of Steve's ear, close enough to feel the way Steve's breathing goes all ragged and rough, the way it used to back before the serum. "And _then_ , after you've made me beg for it – and I mean, really fucking beg, until I'm practically hoarse from it – I want to you to shove your cock in right alongside the dildo, and I want you to fuck me, hard and rough, until I pass out." With each word, Bucky can _feel_ himself letting go of the weight of his sins and his past and all of the atonement he still has to earn. With every word, he puts everything he is in Steve's strong, capable hands, trusting him – the way he's always trusted Steve, the way he always will – to be his anchor and his guide, and to give him exactly what he needs.

Steve flicks the tip of his tongue over pink, dry lips. "How rough are we talking?"

Normally Steve doesn't ask – he doesn't have to – but this is sort of a new thing for both of them. He doesn't mind the question; in fact, he loves Steve even more for it, for the care and concern he has, even now when Bucky knows Steve's hard and aching and ready to get started.

"Ownership," he replies. "Not punishment."

Steve nods, as if the answer is the one he'd been expecting. "Okay. I think I could give you that." Then his smile turns dark, and Bucky shivers at the promise in it. "Now strip and get on the bed so I can get these on you. Then we'll see if you've earned anything more."

Bucky wastes no time obeying the order. Anticipation zips down his spine, thrums along his nerves like a live wire, sizzling him to the core. He tugs out of his clothing in record time, then climbs on the bed and lies down on his back, head propped by the pillows so he has a clear sightline for what Steve does next.

He can't wait to feel the leather of the restraints digging into his skin as he struggles, leaving thick, angry welts that he knows Steve will later kiss and soothe with soft lips. He can't wait to hear Steve's voice in his ear telling him how good he looks, tied up and helpless, Steve's obedient, beautiful boy and all Steve's to do with as he pleases. He can't wait to feel the thick, full press of Steve's fingers inside him, twisting in rough and hard, preparing him the way he likes best. And he can't wait for Steve to push the wide, fat dildo deep inside him and fuck him with it, to feel the contrast of Steve's cock and the dildo in his ass, splitting him open as Steve fucks him, his fingers digging into Bucky's skin, giving him more bruises as marks of Steve's ownership and love.

But, mostly, what he wants – what he really can't wait for – is to see the look in Steve's eyes just after they've both come and are easing down from the adrenaline high. The look that's part-wonder, part-possession. The one that tells Bucky he's cherished and adored, and that, no matter what, Steve'll be there, right by his side all the way down.

The rest of the world would probably say what they have is codependent and unhealthy, and maybe they're right, Bucky doesn't know and he sure as hell doesn't care. Not when Steve is sauntering towards him, restraints dangling lightly from one hand. Not when Steve is slowly unsnapping the buttons of his jeans with his other hand, the flash in those long-lashed blue eyes promising that he'll have Bucky begging and screaming before the night's over, that Bucky won't be able to _move_ or _think_ after because Steve will make sure of it.

Bucky can't wait.

***


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: pre-War hurt/comfort

Steve hears the squeak of the door opening on its hinges, then the soft sound of footsteps coming into the living room. Bucky comes to a halt in front of him, but Steve doesn’t lift his head to meet Bucky’s gaze. He also doesn’t move from his position on the threadbare sofa. 

His eyes are dry and burning, his throat thick with the tears he refuses to shed. The wounds are still fracturing inside him, shifting and jockeying for space under his ribs. Each remembered shout jabbing at him with needle-sharp claws that pierce under his skin.

Bucky drops to his knees, pushing Steve’s unresisting legs apart so he can kneel between them. His hands are soft, conciliatory, sliding across Steve’s thighs in a soothing refrain. He’s still wearing his coat, but he’d shed his hat, and dark bangs spill across his forehead. He looks tired and worn, the normal laugh lines around his mouth and eyes all but hidden.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly. His tone is worlds away from an hour ago, when every word had been bitten out between clenched teeth. "What’s the best part about fighting?“

"When it’s done?” Steve guesses, still not certain he’s ready to trust the gentleness of touch. Not certain he’s ready to trust the apology shining out of Bucky’s blue eyes.

“Kinda, but I was talking about the making up after,” Bucky says, his voice still so soft and aching, like he’s afraid to disrupt the fragility of the peace between them.

“Is that what this is? Us making up?” Steve asks, matching Bucky’s tone. He hates the wounded vulnerability in Bucky’s eyes as much as he hates that he’d been the one to put that look there. He can’t even remember what they’d been fighting over or why it had seemed so important to get in the last word. Nothing seems as important as the fact that Bucky’d come home, that they’re still together, even after the barbed words and verbal strikes.

Bucky keeps his gaze on Steve. “If you want it to be,” he says, and reaches up to Steve’s jaw, the touch unbearably tender. 

Steve nods, nuzzling into the caress of roughened fingers across his skin. “I do,” he says, offering his own apology as he leans in, his lips ghosting across Bucky’s open ones. The heat of anger gives way to the more intense heat of need as they both sink into the kiss, conciliatory and sweet and the perfect way to say _I’m sorry, I love you, I forgive you, we’re good._

***


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can you write some pre-war Stucky? Something like Steve drawing and Bucky just talking to him and kissing his body or something like that? Pleeeease?

From the beginning, they knew they’d have to be quiet. Be careful. They’d witnessed too many beatings in dark alleys, heard about too many raids at illicit clubs, they knew the stories, the cautionary tales told in whispers about broken fingers or busted lips or worse. Bucky and Steve had lives, jobs, and families they needed to protect. The slightest misstep or hint of anything improper or too friendly or queer, and getting carted off to jail would be the least of their problems. And Steve, well, he was a tough SOB, the toughest person Bucky’d ever met, but even the strongest person had their breaking point. And Bucky knew what prison would do to a man like Steve, how it would crush him and his indomitable spirit in more than one way.

Besides, Steve was going places, had a real future ahead of him. He had great job already at The Times designing ads, and he’d already drawn interest from a coupla fellas who worked for _the_ one and only Walt Disney. No way Bucky was gonna fuck with that, not for anything in the world. And Steve, sure, he claimed not to care about recognition or getting ahead in his career, but Bucky knew better. Knew Steve's nonchalance was just so much bluster to hide how much he _did_ want that job with Disney. How much he wanted the world to sit up and notice him and his art. And Bucky wanted it just as bad, wanted Steve’s name to be on everyone’s lips, just like Norman Rockwell or Pablo Picasso or Walt himself.

If keeping quiet and keeping things as on the up and up as much as possible when they were around prying eyes was the sacrifice they needed to make so Steve could realize his dreams, then it was a small price to pay. Hardly a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things. One Bucky would make every day of the week, in fact. He didn’t need to be like the fellas they saw coming out of St. George’s, holding hands and flaunting themselves as bold as brass, daring scorn or arrest or worse.

Besides, what he and Steve had was private. Theirs. Something sacred and beautiful, something that they didn’t need the world to know about, or try to control with grubby fingers and bitter judgement. When they met together on cool sheets, daylight so far away it seemed another myth, when their bodies strained towards each other, Steve's name a prayer on Bucky's lips, Steve's soft pants swallowed by Bucky's kiss, _that_ was their church. The only truth either of them needed, right there in the slide of hands and lips over willing, slick flesh, in mingled moans and soft sighs. That was what was real; that connection was their home. As long as they had the nights together, with the blinds closed tight against prying eyes, both of them moving in sync, perfectly in tune, nothing else mattered. Bucky didn't need anything else.

They would write their own damn rules with every kiss, and the rest of the world could go to hell. 

***


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: If it's not too much trouble could I request a Bucky/Steve fluffy piece where they get roped into babysitting the Barton kids?

"ETA?" Steve asks, dropping into the co-pilot's seat.

"Two minutes," Bucky says, hands steady on the controls of the quinjet. "Any word yet from Clint?"

"Not since the SOS," Steve replies, jaw set. Whatever the emergency is, he and Bucky are locked in and ready to give Clint whatever aid he needs.

They're both silent as Bucky lands the jet in the large stretch of field to the left of the Barton farm - Steve can see Cooper standing on the veranda, but he doesn't see Clint, and Laura's not anywhere in sight, either. And there are no signs anywhere of a struggle or altercation or anything suspicious that would warrant an SOS text.

"This feels off," Bucky comments, echoing Steve's thoughts.

"Yeah, but let's gear up all the same," Steve says.

Cooper's waiting for them when they step off the ramp. "Hey guys," he calls, with a wave. "You brought the shield, cool! Nate's gonna be thrilled."

"What?" Steve asks, looking around. It's quiet and still, the way it is way out in the country, and he still can't see any sign of a threat. "Where's your dad? Or your mom?"

"Uh, out on their date, duh," Cooper replies, looking at Steve and Bucky like they're both a little slow. "I told Dad I was old enough to look after everyone, but you know how he gets. But, if we have to have a babysitter, I'm glad it's you two. Uncle Sam and Aunt Nat moon over each other way more, but that's probably because they're not an old married couple like you two."

"On their _date_?" Bucky asks, exchanging at puzzled glance with Steve.

"Babysitter?" Steve says, suspiciously, ignoring the old married couple dig. It wasn't like it wasn't true.

"Uh, yeah. That's why you're here." Cooper shrugs, then turns to trudge back to the house. "C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, "Lila's making s'mores."

"We'll be right there," Steve says, and turns to Bucky. "That devious motherfucker."

"As soon as Clint and Laura get back, I'm killing him," Bucky says, once Cooper's out of earshot.

"I'll help," Steve says, then shrugs. "But, since we're here, we really shouldn't leave them alone."

"Hey, I'm not leaving," Bucky says, affronted. "I was promised s'mores."

Steve chuckles and holds out his hand. Bucky takes it, lacing their fingers together easily. "Alright, then, let's go make sure the kids don't kill each other before we make them orphans. Well," Steve amends, "Laura can stay. But Clint's going down."

Bucky just laughs and bumps his arm as they head up the hill to the brightly lit house. 

***


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine Steve having to babysit one of Clint's kids who is sick, and he remembers having that thing as a kid and how to get better from it faster than the doctor could.

"I'm telling you, gargling coconut oil will clear Nate's strep throat right up," Steve says, with a helpful smile Laura's way.

Bucky just snorts and rolls his eyes. "Thyme oil and apple cider vinegar, jeez Louise, your poor ma must be rolling over in her grave right now at your piss-poor memory."

Steve frowns. "Who was the one who was sick all the time here, pal?"

"Who was the one stuck nursing you back to health all the time so your ma could get to work, _pal_?"

"Uh, we were just going to give him antibiotics," Laura starts, but gets cut off by Steve's derisive snort.

"Well, I'm the one that had to taste it, and I'm telling you, it was coconut oil –"

Bucky throws his hands up, exasperated. "Oh my good Christ, it was thyme oil, two drops in your tea, and anyway, how the hell can you remember what anything tastes like from back then with all the phlegm you kept coughing up?"

Laura clears her throat, loudly. "I really don't need to hear the details about –"

Steve's eyes narrow as he pokes Bucky's chest. "You're seriously gonna stand there and tell me you know better than me what I used to take –"

Bucky knocks Steve's hand away. "Yeah, if you're gonna be wrong about it, you bet your ass I am –"

"Honestly, my kids argue less than the two of you," Laura remarks, not that either one of them are remotely listening. 

***


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve/Bucky eating candy in their underwear in bed <3

Bucky tosses the bag next to Steve with a flourish and clambers on the bed after it, sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter. "This is the last of it, so we'll have to make it last until the storm blows over."

Steve grabs a Kit-Kat bar and settles back against the headboard, a plethora of fluffy pillows helping to keep him upright. "I wonder if they taste any different."

"Only one way to find out," Bucky says, and grabs one of the packages.

Steve rips his open, but just stares at the wafers. "These were Peggy and Monty's favorite, remember."

"Yeah," Bucky says, softly. He rubs a thumb across Steve's knuckles, rough, yet still oddly gentle. "I remember." 

Steve offers a small smile, meets the compassionate blue of Bucky's eyes. "It's weird, sometimes, that's all. That we're the last ones left."

"A whole lotta things are weird these days, including us," Bucky says, ruefully, and tears at his package. "This looks right, at least."

"Little lighter than it used to be," Steve says, and breaks off a bar to nibble at one end. "Sweeter, too."

Bucky chews thoughtfully for a second. "Not bad, though. I bet the dark chocolate ones taste more like we remember them."

"We'll try those next." Steve finishes his bar - still too sweet, although the taste kinda starts growing on him.

Bucky rummages in the bag, and pulls out another package. "Right after we find out if Reese's Peanut Butter Cups still taste the same."

Steve just stuffs another Kit-Kat bar in his mouth and makes grabby hands at the Reese's.

***


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve has a bad day (like, stubbed my toe, burnt the food, broke the lamp, just little crap adds up kinda bad day) and Bucky makes it all better? [Off The Record 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/341686)

Pre-production on every film was a challenge, but some days were worse than others. And Steve's day had been filled with one fire after another – a budget fight with his producers over a location, design changes that weren't quite there, a key actor pulling out due to scheduling conflicts, which meant more auditions and possibly a delayed shoot – but it was thankfully over, and tomorrow he could start fresh. Right now, he was just happy to be home, even if it was hours later than he'd planned. Which meant Bucky was probably asleep already, which added yet another black mark to the wretchedness of his day – 

Or, maybe not, Steve thought, as he stepped into the living room, hanging his jacket up on the coat rack. There were candles merrily burning on the mantle and coffee table, their soft glow welcoming and cheerful, Etta James' voice crooned softly through the speakers, and when Steve inhaled, he caught the heady aroma of Bucky's homemade tomato sauce, the competing scents of oregano and garlic and basil reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

He headed into the dining room, and found Bucky, his bare feet peeking from under the hem of black sleep pants, and the thin cotton of his white t-shirt practically transparent, lighting the last of the candles on the table.

"Uh, what's all this?" Steve asked, bemused. The scene looked like something out of a movie – utterly romantic and gorgeously perfect. He couldn't have staged it better himself.

Bucky smiled in welcome and walked over to give him a soft kiss. "Hey you. I had your PA text me to let me know when you were on the way home," he said, brushing Steve's bangs from his forehead, the touch light. "So kudos on the perfect timing."

"What's the occasion?" Had he missed something? Had Bucky sold another book? Won another journalism prize? 

"A very special day," Bucky told him and pulled him close.

"Special day?" Panicked, Steve tried to remember the exact date, but it wasn't his or Bucky's birthday, and it wasn't their wedding anniversary (they'd gotten married on the same day as their Ten Pound reunion to make things easier) and...

Bucky silenced the question on the tip of his tongue with another light brush of his lips against Steve's. "You didn't forget it, so stop frowning like that."

Steve smoothed his face into something resembling calm. It helped that Bucky was still holding him close. "How could we have an anniversary I don't know about?"

Bucky gave him another kiss, this one slower one, deeper. Steve melted into it, the way he'd always done, ever since the night they'd reconnected. The night that had changed his life. "How long did we know each other as kids?" Bucky asked, instead, when they parted.

Steve mentally did the math. "Uh, we met first day of kindergarten and I moved the summer after eighth grade just before my birthday, so...almost nine years?"

"Eight years, eight months, eighteen days," Bucky supplied. "I had to ask my mom the exact date of our first day of kindergarten."

"Okay?" Steve said, lost.

"And how long were we separated before we got back together?

That number, Steve knew by heart. "Seventeen years, ten days."

Bucky smiled at him, small and fond and beautiful. "And how long's it been since that night at Ten Pound?"

"Since we got back together? Uh...little over eight years?" he guessed. It was September now, so, yeah, that...sounded right. "I'd have to think about that one."

"Why don't you let me tell you. Eight years, three months, and nineteen days," Bucky said, and beamed. "Which means today is officially the day that we've been together longer than we've been apart, if you add it all up."

Steve's throat closed as understanding dawned. Between their years growing up together as best friends, and their years reunited, they'd finally put together enough days that outlasted their separation. 

"Buck..." he got out, as the tension he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding was suddenly, blissfully released. Suddenly, the sucktasticness of his day ceased to matter. In fact, he couldn't even remember any part of it.

"Yeah." Bucky's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "We made it, Stevie. We made it."

Light, brilliant and all-encompassing, washed over him, left him buoyant in its wake. "I love you so much," he breathed, tugging Bucky to him until he could feel that familiar heart beating against his own, felt those strong arms wrap around his back, and Bucky's hot, moist breath against his neck.

"I love you too, always," Bucky murmured, pulling back just far enough to kiss each of Steve's eyelids, then the tears from his cheeks. When their lips met again, Bucky's lips were salty-slick.

"I can't believe you did all of this," Steve said, awed. "That you went through so much trouble..."

"We were apart for a long time," Bucky replied, with a soft smile. "Far too long, if you ask me. But from now on, we get to say that we've been together longer. And I think that means something."

"It means a lot. You know it does." It meant everything. The entire goddamn world, in fact. 

"I do. Which is why we're celebrating." The smile widened, crooked and imperfect, and all the more beloved because of it. "So, you ready for dinner, then some hot, celebratory sex?"

"All sex with you is celebratory," Steve said, heart so full it was near bursting.

Bucky's eyes flashed with heat. "See, and that's exactly the sort of talk that makes me want to say fuck it to eating and drag you upstairs to bed right now."

Steve smoothed his hands along Bucky's back, lingering along every rib and knob of his spine. They had all night – the rest of their lives, in fact – and every time Steve thought about it, that he and Bucky were _together_ after so much time and distance and heartache, he wanted to go to his knees in thanks. What they had was a miracle he would never take for granted, every single moment precious. 

"You went through a lot of trouble. Seems a shame not to at least eat," he said, with a wicked grin. He was content to take his time, let the evening play out. "Besides, you'll need your strength for what I have in mind."

Bucky ducked in for another soft kiss. "Sounds promising," he replied, his tone making it clear that Steve's day was going to end up a helluva lot better than how it had started.

***


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: My two backer ficlets for the Not Without You Anthology

It's not often Bucky and Steve get any time off to just be - no patrols, no deployments, no meetings - just an entire block of time with no commitments and nothing except time to do whatever they want. But on those rare occasions, Bucky's always tempted to spend the entire day in bed, finding new and creative ways to make Steve beg and moan and fall apart. And while they do spend a fair amount of time just like that, lost in each other, it's also nice to get out of the compound and head into the great outdoors without having to look over their shoulders every second.

It's nice to breathe fresh air (such as it is these days) and sleep curled up next to Steve under a canopy of trees, with only the stars and woodland creatures for company. Bucky loves to pretend that he and Steve are the only two people left in the world, that it's just them and the majesty of Mother Nature. He loves that feeling of _smallness_ , of reconnecting to the earth at its most basic level.

Bucky knows his life has a higher purpose, that he's out there saving lives and keeping the world safe from tyranny, and it's important, he knows that. But when he's with Steve - when it's just the two of them together, and Steve's pulling him in to share kisses that taste of fresh water and sunlight, he knows the best and deepest connection he has to the world doesn't come from what he and Steve and the rest of team accomplish on the field of battle. 

*** 

Bucky joined Steve on the back deck and slapped a bottle of beer into his palm. "You planning on staying out here all night?"

"Maybe." Steve noted the taste of hops and barley on his tongue at the first sip, and shifted so he and Bucky were pressed thigh to thigh. The waves rolling in from the ocean were beautiful, hypnotic, soothing in a way that calmed even Steve's too-busy brain. The scent of brine hung thick in the air, and the full moon cast its silvery spell on the beach, turning it into an ethereal fairy land of mystery. The stars overhead twinkled bright and clear, stretching infinite across the black sky. Everything about the moment unbearably beautiful.

But not even the majesty of the sea at night could compare to the miracle that was Bucky, standing next to him hale and healthy and _here_. He and Bucky kept finding and choosing each other over and over, a miracle each time, a gift Steve would never take for granted.

Bucky threw an arm around Steve's shoulders and pulled him close enough to press a kiss to his temple, his lips warm and slightly damp. "It is nice out here."

"Yeah," Steve replied, and wrapped his own arm around Bucky's waist, the warmth of Bucky's skin palpable even under the fabric of his shirt. Inched even closer, a moth forever drawn to Bucky's light. "We should retire here."

Bucky's laugh was low, fond, and his next kiss even softer. "Well," he mused, "we _are_ old enough." 

"Good, glad that's settled," Steve replied, and they settled together in silence to watch the tide come in. 

***


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Something sappy and unapologetically romantic

The suite was lovely, spacious, had the sort of understated elegance that meant it probably was costing Steve a small fortune. (Not that Bucky thought Steve gave a good goddamn - they’d both more than earned the right to indulge themselves.) The floor-to-ceiling glass doors were thrown open, letting in the ocean breeze and the soothing sounds of the waves against the shore. There were cut fresh flowers expertly arranged in a vase on the nightstand, and the sheets were turned invitingly down on the king-sized bed. Steve had clearly gone all out on the romantic front, and Bucky loved him for the gesture, even though he didn’t need it.

Steve walked up behind him, sliding his arms around Bucky’s waist to pull Bucky against his chest. "Not too bad for a last minute vacation, huh."

Bucky turned in Steve’s embrace, sliding his hands under Steve’s shirt to map warm skin as he started walking backwards, trusting his instincts to get him where he needed to go. "You know we didn’t have to fly all the way out to Hawaii to have hot hotel sex," he teased, affection and warmth lacing every word.

"Maybe not, but I’m not going to apologize for it," Steve replied, and gently pushed Bucky back on the mattress, following to pin Bucky down with his body. Not that Bucky had any intention of moving.

Bucky stretched, reveled in the solid weight bearing down on him, in the look of laughter and love in Steve’s eyes. He’d missed _this_ , more than anything else. Just being close to Steve, sharing breaths and heartbeats, the two of them finally together the way they were meant to be. 

He made quick work of drawing Steve’s shirt over his head, then paused for a moment to stare in appreciation, the moon shining through the open doors turning pale skin silvery bright. "Beautiful," he breathed, although Steve had always been beautiful, well before the serum.

Steve shuddered, and closed his eyes. "I’d almost forgotten…"

Bucky leaned up, lips barely grazing Steve’s, as he ran light hands along a muscled chest, then dragged his fingers over the trail of light hairs that disappeared into the waistband of Steve’s shorts. "Shhh...I know. I’m here now."

They were both here now, the way it should be.

Steve nodded and let out a breath, then another, as he seemed to find his center with every slow exhale. "Okay."

"Okay," Bucky agreed, and smiled into the next kiss.

Steve eagerly returned it, and when he moved to pull off Bucky’s shirt, it was like rewinding time. Like maybe Steve’s hands had never left their tender exploration of his body. Like maybe the last seventy years or so had been a hazy dream, and now, finally, the world was back in focus. Gentle lips followed the same path that Steve’s fingers were taking, and Bucky surrendered himself to Steve, to the assurance of his touch and the reverence of his kisses.

Time passed in dream-like flashes of clarity. The muffled and appreciative noises Steve made when he found a sensitive bit of skin just under Bucky’s ribs. The wet, ticklish feel of Steve’s lips circling each nipple. The sharp intake of his own breath when rough fingers unbuttoned his shorts and pulled them off his legs. Cool air caressing his skin, contrasting with the heat of Steve’s body pressed tight against his.

By the time Steve lifted his head again, Bucky was so lost in sensation that it took him a moment to remember where he was. Quivering fingers slid over the jut of Steve’s collarbones, then along broad shoulders. When Steve smiled down at him, Bucky’s heart tumbled in his chest all over again, just like it had the first time they’d done this at sixteen.

"Hope we’re not going to be doing rock paper scissors like we normally do," Steve mused, with a grin.

Bucky’s sharp burst of laughter surprised even him. Steve’s grin widened, crinkling his eyes and the lines around his mouth. Bucky wanted to trace each and every one of them with his tongue. "I think I can give you a free pass just this once," he replied, smiling so hard that it felt like a glorious sort of pain.

"Good." Steve stood and made short work of taking off his own shorts before returning to his spot between Bucky’s thighs. "But I’ll warn you now, I haven’t had much in the way of practice lately."

Bucky ran his hands along the wide expanse of Steve’s back, pressed his hips against Steve’s in demand and need, hard cocks rubbing together. "Not my fault you weren’t out there painting the town red," he teased, somewhat breathlessly.

"You were the only person I wanted to paint the town with," Steve stated matter-of-factly, and before Bucky could think of a suitable reply, Steve’s lips were back on his, and all thought fell by the wayside. There was only this. Only them and the heat they created, a flame that had never gone out.

When Steve slid inside him, after spending so much time stretching and preparing him that Bucky thought he would implode from desperation, there was none of the awkwardness Bucky had been expecting after so long a time apart. Instead, it felt like they’d just done this yesterday. Like time really had somehow stopped, and was only just now resuming at the first assured thrust of Steve’s cock deep inside his body. Bucky clutched at Steve’s arms, met each kiss and each flex of Steve’s hips with his own claim, branding them together.

"Just like…" Steve faltered, groaning as they rocked together, finding the perfect rhythm.

"Yes," Bucky whispered, breathing the word between them, a prayer and a promise. "Yes…"

The only answer he needed was in his arms. 

***


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: AU Valentine's Day 'bargain'

"Oh, man, Stevie, you gotta listen to this," Bucky said, lifting another card from the box in front of him. Most of the other boxes were already taped shut and lined along the living room wall, waiting for the movers. It was their last day in their old place and, although Bucky was more than ready to move into their brand-new – and far roomier – apartment, he was feeling a little nostalgic about leaving his and Steve's first apartment behind.

Steve, who'd been going through the bedroom closet, and yanking out unwanted clothing for Goodwill, turned and gave Bucky a questioning look. "Listen to what?"

Bucky picked the card back up and examined the childish, block-like lettering. Man, the memories this one brought back... "The most embarrassing Valentine's card ever written by yours truly."

Steve flashed him a grin, and went back to sorting through clothes. "That's a bold statement where you're concerned," he said. "You've sent me some terrible attempts at poetry back in the day."

Which, Steve had a point, but Bucky also knew that Steve saved every single one of those terrible attempts at poetry, because his romantic softie of a husband had a sentimental streak a mile wide. And Bucky loved him for it. "Please, you love my mad rhyming skills."

"I think the phrase you're looking for is, I love you in _spite_ of your terrible rhyming skills, but go on."

Bucky clutched the card to his heart and let out an affronted gasp. "Just for that, no poetry for you."

Steve rolled his eyes, but gestured to him. "Don't make me come over there and wrestle you for it."

"Like you'd win," Bucky scoffed, but cleared his throat dramatically. "But, since I'm in a generous mood, here goes:

_My Teddy Bear is nice and soft  
It comes in handy when I'm scared  
He follows me wherever I go  
That is something that I know._

_I gave him to you on a cold, rainy day  
You held him tight  
But then you broke my heart  
And now I want him back._

Steve waited a beat. "Who the hell did you send that to?"

"Sarah Wiley."

Steve's face cleared. "Oh yeah, I remember her. Fourth grade, right? First girlfriend?"

Bucky nodded. "That's her. Hair like a sunrise and freckles for days."

"You always did have a thing for freckles," Steve said, pressing a kiss to Bucky's forehead before going back to the closet. His voice echoed slightly as he poked his head in to get at the clothes in the back. "I always said you were too good for her."

"True, you did, but she still scarred me for life, you know," Bucky said, and put the card back into the box that also held the teddy bear in question, various letters and cards from Steve during the year Bucky'd spent studying in Moscow, and assorted high school knickknacks. "I don't think I've ever recovered from the blow she dealt my fragile, young heart."

Steve poked his head out, his hair a spiky, ridiculous mess. One cheek had a smear of dirt across it. "So...you're telling me your heart's a shriveled, closed fist now?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say shriveled, but it's definitely got a few dents and bruises thanks to her."

"I see," Steve said, and grinned, that wide, mischievous one that had been Bucky's downfall from the first day they'd met, all the way back in kindergarten. "I guess it's lucky for you I like a bargain."

Bucky harrumphed and threw a pair of balled up socks at him. "Damn right you do, Rogers. I'm the best bargain you're ever gonna get."

Steve walked over and tilted Bucky's face up to brush a light, sweet kiss to his lips. "Even if you were twice the price, you'd be worth every penny," he murmured, his smile now soft and intimate.

"Such a fucking sap," Bucky sighed, but pulled Steve to the floor with him. Packing could totally wait.

***


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor AU

Steve’s eyes started to blur behind his glasses as he stared hopelessly down at the papers strewn on the desk. He loved his job, he truly did, but grading essay finals when the subject was T.S. Eliot’s poetry was more or less like being asked to attend a lecture on bio-chemistry in Chinese. Just reading through some of the interpretations was definitely an exercise in his non-existent patience.

He looked around his tiny, cramped office, dominated by a battered oak desk that probably predated the school itself, every nook and cranny crammed with books and papers and more books, all lying haphazardly in precarious piles (he had a system – honestly, he did – no matter what his TA said to the contrary), then to the single, small, grungy window. It was fully dark out. Jeez, no wonder he felt so wiped – he’d worked straight through the afternoon and missed dinner. Again.

Next semester, he was totally putting in a better system for finals. Maybe make the students do an oral presentation or maybe a nice, boring, multiple choice test. Something that didn’t involve five-page essays and badly annotated footnotes.

He loosened his tie a little more so he could undo another button of his shirt. His tweed jacket had long since come off, and he’d rolled up his sleeves to just under his elbows in a fruitless effort at comfort. Granted, he could simply go home and change into a tee and sweats, and work from his own back porch, but he knew if he left, he’d faceplant right into bed. The worn, but very comfortable, sofa on the far wall already beckoned him with the promise of a quick nap to recharge his batteries.

The door groaned in protest as it opened, and Bucky – in his usual well-worn jeans and an equally well-worn tee – walked in, carrying a Styrofoam tray with three large cups, and a white bag practically dripping with grease. “Hey you, thought I’d bring reinforcements,” he greeted, holding up the tray. When he smiled, the corners of his remarkable blue eyes crinkled at the corners.

Steve wanted to lay his head down on his desk and weep in sheer gratitude. “Please tell me that’s coffee.”

“And almond croissants from the bodega you like,” Bucky confirmed, and set everything down on the one small corner of the desk that was miraculously free of debris. “When you didn’t show up for dinner, I figured you were still holed up in here like the hermity nerd you are.”

Steve winced, even though there was no censure in Bucky’s tone. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I totally spaced on the time.”

“Eh, sometimes being an adult means you can eat croissants for dinner and drink far too many extra-foamy lattes.” He passed over one of the cups and Steve took off the lid, closing his eyes as he inhaled the heady combination of espresso and steamed milk. Already, he felt rejuvenated.

After the first, life-affirming sip, he opened his eyes to find Bucky had moved beside him, and was leaning against the desk. His gaze was sympathetic, and when he cupped Steve’s cheek in a roughened palm, Steve leaned into the warmth like a grateful cat. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Always a pleasure,” Bucky replied, and leaned down, Steve meeting him halfway. The kiss was brief, but no less potent, the rough scrape of Bucky’s beard sending another surge of energy through Steve’s system. Maybe he’d forgo the coffee next time and skip right to making out with Bucky when he needed a pick-me-up.

Bucky glanced down at topmost stack of papers. “That’s a lot of red ink, babe.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure a few of my students are trolling me on purpose.”

“Can’t say I blame them. You _are_ kinda hot when you get all worked up.”

Steve hid his blush by taking another sip of his latte. "You’re biased.“

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Bucky thumbed through a few of the papers. Every time he moved his hands, his fingers brushed against Steve’s wrist, making the hairs on his arms rise. “You’ll have to let me guest-lecture again sometime.”

“Last time we did that, Fury threatened to fire us for inciting the students to riot,” Steve replied, sounding a shade breathless, even to himself. He didn’t move his hand.

“Yeah, but it would have been worth it if he had.” Bucky’s eyes, warm and laughing and so very blue that it hurt to look at them, pierced beneath Steve’s skin to the core of him. What little breath he had left was lost in a white-hot rush.

Then Bucky twisted, bracing his hands on either side of the desk as he dropped to straddle Steve’s lap, the heat of him a living, breathing, hungry thing.

“ _Busco en mi carne las, huellas de tus labios…_ ”

In some dim part of Steve’s brain that wasn’t overwhelmed by Bucky’s lips so close to his and Bucky’s earthy, metallic scent filling his senses and Bucky’s tightly coiled body pressed, hard and muscular, against his, he recognized the poem as one of Lorca’s. He didn’t think anyone would blame him for not remembering the exact one, especially since Bucky took that exact moment to flick his tongue, butterfly-quick, between Steve’s open lips, and tilt his head for a truly exceptional kiss. Bucky tasted warm, like sunshine and summer, and Steve moaned against Bucky’s mouth, encouraging Bucky to take more and more still.

He lost track of time, lost track of the room and grading and how late it was, lost track of everything that wasn’t Bucky. He felt, as he always did when Bucky touched him, thoroughly possessed, his brain fogging right along with his glasses. Bucky kissed Steve with his entire body, angled his head to them even closer and nibble at Steve’s lips, before diving in for another taste. All Steve could do was curl his tongue around Bucky’s, and grab onto Bucky’s shoulders tight to let him know that, whatever he was doing, it was more than welcome.

When Bucky finally pulled back, it took Steve several deep breaths in order to find his voice. “What was that for?”

Bucky just smiled, wide and wicked, his lips attractively bruised and red from Steve’s. "I can’t just want to kiss my best guy?“

"Sure, but if you keep this up, then we’re never getting home,” Steve pointed out.

Bucky waggled his brows. "Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had sex on the sofa.“

”Buck...“

"Alright, I’m moving,” Bucky said, then stood, and snagged one of the croissants from the bag. "You want some help with those?“

Steve was tempted, but he shook his head. "I’ve only got six left. I’m good.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky told him. “If I leave you, you’ll stay all night, and the bed’s much too big without you taking up all the space.”

“You wouldn’t have to steal the covers if you slept alone.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Typical Bucky, Steve thought, fondly. “Fine, you can stay, but you have to sit on the sofa. I can’t think when you’re this close. It’s distracting.”

“Flattery will get you all the sex later,” Bucky replied, and leaned in for another kiss.

Steve reveled in the heat and closeness for a few long moments, before he made himself stop. "Buck, come on, I’m serious.“

"Alright, alright, I’m moving,” Bucky said, and grabbed the book under the tray. "I need to brush up on Akhmatova before tomorrow’s lecture anyway.“

Steve squinted at the title. "You’re reading her in the original Russian?”

Bucky gave him a horrified look. "Damn right I am. The English translations are all terrible. My freshmen students could do a better job.“

"Of course you’d say that,” Steve said, with another fond smile.

“Unlike you, _my_ students are all awesome.” Bucky gave him a wink and patted his cheek before moving to the sofa.

Steve looked at him for a moment – sprawled on the cushions, nose already buried in the pages, dark hair falling around his face – and smiled to himself before bending back to his papers.

***

**Author's Note:**

> You can now find me on [Tumblr](https://brendaonao3.tumblr.com)! :)


End file.
